Souls and Circuits
by Giraffe on the Moon
Summary: Sequel to Boundaries, Dredd and Anderson return to MC1 and find the city in uproar over the recent emotional programming for robo-servants. Meanwhile Anderson's fledgling Psi-Division is in the center of SJS' scrutiny at the same time she is sent undercover. Reading Boundaries first might help understand some references.
1. Hostages

**Dicslaimer: **I don't own any of the Dredd characters, places, etc.

**A/N: **If you haven't read "Boundaries" I strongly suggest it or some references will go clear over your head in this story. :)

Chapter 1: Hostages

Dredd and Anderson stepped out of the elevator and made their way towards the lobby on the 300th floor. After a turbulent month long assignment outside the Wall both Judges were impressed at the look, feel, and function of the city. The Hall of Justice had seemed like a towering beacon of success and civilization rather than the last bulwark against absolute chaos.

Chief Judge Goodman's aide Ariel was standing up behind his desk, staring at a screen with a grim expression. He was slim with gray hair and bands of white at the temples, older than both Judges by a fair margin. Ariel glanced up at their arrival and did a double take at Anderson in her now loose fitting uniform and the slight tan on her cheeks.

"Judge Anderson," he almost stammered. She gave him a succinct nod. "Judge Dredd," Ariel hurried to remember him, too distracted to let the memory of Dredd reflexively dislocating his shoulder about a month back color his expression. "Chief Judge Goodman has been expecting you but..." he faltered. "Deputy Chief Judge Cal is in conference with her on pressing matters."

He twisted the screen on his desk around as both Dredd and Anderson stepped closer. It took a second for the image to make sense in his head. Somewhere in a wealthy district of the city there was a riot, the pavement covered in black oil. Staked like medieval victims were assorted servo-robots, several of them the George model from the Robot of the Year show. Canisters of riot gas and muted gun fire sounded in the background. Bodies hurried past the surveillance footage, some of them terrified civilians, others rioters, and one Judge shot past too quick for Dredd to even see the name on the badge.

"Its been happening all over the city in the last two weeks," Ariel informed them both. "The new personality programming has sparked a number of controversies and the public is reacting...poorly."

"Looks like the city missed us," Dredd remarked to Anderson. "What district?"

"Sector 8, Kaku Block," Ariel provided.

"Lets check in and hit the streets," the psychic nodded, almost shoulder length tawny curls swaying. Her bangs had fallen free of the clip she'd used to subdue them on the way over. As one they moved briskly down the hall for Goodman's office. Dredd didn't even bother with a knock, raised voices carrying clear into the hallway. He pushed in, Anderson on his heels.

"Judges Dredd and Anderson reporting back in from outside the wall. Permission to engage rioters in Sector 8, Kaku Block," Dredd announced, taking in the scene of Cal standing by an overturned chair with Judge Slocum to his right, Ecks opposite them, and Goodman in between with a dark expression. Goodman and Cal were squared off like perfect opposites, Cal with his blond curls and blue eyes against an alabaster complexion, and Goodman all dark skin and black hair cropped tight against her scalp. Her ebony yes fixed on Dredd with fury at the interruption.

"This was an unprecedented risk!" Cal shouted, pointing Anderson out with a natural flare for the dramatic. "Now she's been outside the Wall unsupervised we have no telling what sort of influences may have corrupted her!"

"We trusted Dredd to administer her Assessment and I trusted him again to monitor her progress during this extended training," Goodman replied with a careful rein on her tone and volume.

"I want her quarantined until the effects of her time outside the Walls can be determined!" Cal demanded. Dredd barely kept himself from drawing his Lawgiver as more members of SJS shifted out of the background, ready to obey the command.

"It was agreed upon by the council to begin Pis-Division's development and I was left in charge of the methods, not SJS," Ecks replied, his voice even but hard. His receding hairline and the slight weight about his middle – a side effect of sitting on the council rather than working the streets – didn't make him formidable but his dark eyes were as unyielding as stone. "And the method I chose to adopt was the bolstering of my chief agent's abilities and some field research with our Teks."

"Psi-Division's day to day tasks may fall to you but such a decision should have been brought before the entire council. It is the role of SJS to monitor the activities of Judges, is it not?" Cal hissed.

"I gave him permission and my decisions supersede that of the council," Goodman replied.

"_Not_ if the council deems you unfit, Judge Goodman," Cal snarled, his perfect gold locks swirling around his head as he whirled to face her with vehement conviction. "She poses a threat to Mega City One with unimaginable power. The data from Al-Sayid's recording device has only begun to filter in and already she surpasses anything we've ever seen. Do you know what you could be inviting into the Hall of Justice? _I_ feel she's a threat and as head of SJS I _command_ her given over to SJS until this 'training' can be studied!"

"Judge Cal!" Goodman thundered. "You sir are out of line! I suggest you remember your place and recall that threats and demands are not the place of the Deputy Chief Judge. _I_ am in charge of this city and you will remember that I do not take orders from you. Now recall the city is in upheaval and there are more important matters to attend."

"If you will not recognize her as a threat and insist on continuing this dangerous track without suitable precaution then I will take it to the rest of the council and ensure this beast is properly contained."

"Watch your tongue Cal," Goodman snapped.

"There is a riot in Sector 8," Dredd called attention to himself, stepping up as his temper surged. "These politics can be settled later when the situation is under control. Judge Anderson is needed on the streets."

"You don't have the qualifications to make that decision," Cal accused, his pretty features contorted.

"As her commanding officer for the duration of the past operation and a senior Judge I'm telling you she's fit for duty and I want her on the streets," Dredd answered, bristling at the unprovoked rancor directed at Anderson.

"Step out of it Dredd. You have no authority here," Cal spat.

"But I do," Goodman assured him, angry tremors threatening her tone. "If it is your wish to pursue this matter then you will follow the appropriate channels Deputy Judge."

"Rest assured," Cal vowed with glittering diamond blue eyes. "Slocum, I'm sure you can find some way to assist in the riots. The streets need good Judges."

"Sir," Slocum nodded succinctly.

"As for you Anderson, expect a summons," Cal pointed at her.

"Sir," Anderson replied, her face a perfect mask of calm. It was as if she had expected such open loathing. Her calmness made one of Cal's eyes twitch and he swirled away, presumably to get hold of himself.

"See to Sector 8," Goodman instructed darkly. "A moment before you go Slocum."

"Lets go," Dredd instructed of the tawny haired psychic. She turned away and walked with him. Ariel was still standing behind his desk, eyes narrowed at the monitor. He glanced up at their approach, eyes flicking between Dredd and Anderson.

"Good luck," he said. Anderson gave him a smile while Dredd only nodded.

In the hallway as they waited Dredd watched Anderson from the corner of his eye, searching for some reaction. She offered none for a long time, not even when Slocum's boots clicked down the hallway after them. He had green eyes like a cat, helmet under one arm as he sauntered towards them. Somewhere in his forties with beginning threads of gray in his chestnut curls he was always serious. Dredd had never known him to smile and he was efficient and exact, perfectly attuned to Cal's variable mood swings and harsh pronouncements. The pair of them together ruled SJS with an iron fist, making brutal examples of Judges who opted to break the laws they swore to uphold. Dredd had always respected them and while he understood reservations about Psi-Division he couldn't help the bristle of anger on Anderson's behalf. It had been a ludicrous display of some animal fear.

"Welcome back Judge Anderson," Slocum nodded to her. His voice was smooth, the lower notes rasping slightly. "It would seem your time in the Cursed Earth was fruitful. I look forward to hearing about it."

"Of course Judge Slocum," Anderson nodded. Her tone was perfectly congenial but something felt wrong. Her posture was upright and relaxed and though she smiled he saw she was uneasy in the small curl at the corners of her mouth, like the muscles in her face were trying to prevent some other reaction. "You'll have a full report."

"You're famous for your details. Be sure to leave nothing out," Slocum advised raising one eyebrow in an almost friendly expression.

"I wouldn't dream of it sir," she assured him. The combination of Cal's outburst and Anderson's previous remarks about SJS set Dredd's hackles up. The elevator arrived and the doors whooshed back to expose a stubbly Judge with sandy blond helmet hair and another, taller man, broader through the shoulders and still with his helmet on.

"Dredd!"

"Gibson," Dredd nodded at the Judge with his helmet on. "You here to report?"

"Already did on 289. Thought we might as well step on one headed up rather than wait. On the way back to Sector 8," Gibson replied. "You too?"

"Yeah," he nodded.

"We'll follow your lead then. This is Judge Jack, on loan from sector 56," Gibson gestured at the younger man without his helmet.

"An honor sir," Jack saluted. Dredd only motioned Anderson ahead of him. "Judge Slocum," Jack acknowledged SJS' right hand. Dredd pointedly put himself between Anderson and Slocum, practically smothering her between he and Gibson.

"Anderson," Gibson read the badge, cocking his head to one side. "You're Dredd's rookie. Its a real pleasure to the meet a Judge that lives up to his expectations."

"That might be a stretch sir," Anderson answered, craning her head back to look up at Gibson.

"Judge Cassandra Anderson of the 140th?" Jack asked and she twisted around to look at him.

"I'm on special assignment under Judge Ecks for now," she nodded. Jack whistled, arching tapering eyebrows over hazel eyes.

"Dinner says she rounds up more rioters than you Jack," Gibson challenged.

"Gambling's illegal," Dredd reminded them tersely.

"You still owe me dinner after this," Gibson rephrased. Jack smirked at Gibson before he looked over at Anderson.

"We'll show these old boys a thing or two," he told her as Dredd wondered what Jack would make of the Valley of Hearts. "I've been a Judge for about five years now. How long since your Assessment?"

"Seven months," Anderson replied.

"You still forget your helmet seven months out?" Jack asked.

"Sometimes I'm out of my mind," she gave him a wry smile as Dredd appreciated the humor. Slocum beside him actually smirked.

The elevator released them and the group of Judges made their way to the garage which was eerily empty. Dredd hadn't been sorry to obtain the choice parking but then there were no new bikes for either he or Anderson. The crew stopped and looked at the stripped, skeletal remains of the Lawmaster that Teks Radkov and Rosenberg had resurrected back in the Cursed Earth. Dredd simply swung on and Anderson settled behind him.

"That a new model from Tek?" Gibson asked with barely contained laughter, his Lawmaster revving in a throaty display of power.

"Custom made," Anderson answered. "We'll see you boys in Sector 8."

"We'll try to save you some action," Gibson nodded. Anderson's little hand settled on Dredd's shoulder and he juiced the throttle. Their bike whizzed past Gibson and took the lead, Slocum right behind them calmly as Gibson laughed and Jack brought up the rear.

Lightweight they pulled ahead of the others and Dredd's driving proved superior, weaving through traffic and hauling towards Sector 8. The closer they got the more traffic thinned. Around them looming buildings and towering blocks swept past, the twisting highways snaking over and around each other in complicated patterns like the arteries of a great beast. After the wide open spaces of the Cursed Earth it was comforting and claustrophobic to be back in his Mega City One. Behind him Anderson studied the view.

"What about Slocum?" Dredd asked when the barricade ahead manned by Judges appeared and he was forced to slow down. They were a good couple of miles ahead of the others.

"What about him?" Anderson prompted.

"You go back?"

"He was assigned to me once it got out what I was," she nodded.

"Judge Dredd," greeted the leader of the men assigned to the barricade. "Go on through. Most of it is centered around Kaku Block." Dredd eased past the barrier and took off again through streets absolutely still and strangely quiet. Dredd considered what he might say to Anderson as some part of him wanted to offer guidance. She didn't like Slocum or was it...fear?

They were silent as the sounds of the motor echoed off emptied streets in Sector 8, home to many of the wealthiest businessmen and politicians in Mega City One. Expansive, outrageously expensive boutiques lined the streets, their windows shattered and merchandise looted. It wasn't unheard of for a sector like this but usually riots happened in poorer places. This particular district of this particular sector should have been untouched. But then this was where robo servants like the George models would be considered affordable.

Oil slicks were the first indicators of the chaos. Dredd and Anderson both put their respirators on when they approached the riot gas rising like mist. Muted blats of gunfire sounded ahead, small fires sizzling on puddles of oil illuminating the way in ghoulish orange a touch reminiscent of the Tooth Collector's cavern. Anderson's only reaction was to remove her Lawgiver from its holster.

A parameter had been established outside Kaku Block, the base of the building splashed with sooty explosion marks and blown out windows, the glass glittering like angry embers in reflection of nearby fires. Dredd brought them to a stop as another Judge waved to them. He had a heavier duty respirator something akin to a gas mask that would allow him to speak where their smaller ones remained clenched between their teeth, effectively silencing them.

"Judge Dredd," this Judge, one Carter, called. "Sir, command is set up this way under Judge Hunt."

Hunt was not unknown to Dredd. They'd graduated the same year from the Academy and Hunt had distinguished himself as capable and risen to a Sector Chief in 8. They hadn't spoken in years but Dredd recognized him immediately despite all the gear. His willowy frame was elegant and he moved with the grace of a dancer, something that had earned him scorn until he'd effectively turned the brute strength of his bullies against them in a series of masterful defeats in self defense classes. Instructors still talked about Hunt's uncanny close combat skills reverently to their cadets.

"They've holed up in the building with hostages," Hunt informed Dredd in a soft spoken timbre when he turned to look up from the schematics laid across a damaged car. Around them were bits of robo-servants, some twitching and smoking, others warbling in demented loops as they short circuited on their stakes. Hunt passed them each a larger respirator.

"How do you feel about negotiating?" Dredd looked at Anderson once they'd switched the respirators and could talk again.

"I'll get you what you need," she nodded. Hunt looked between the pair of them before motioning at another Judge nearby. He took the radio handed to him.

"I have a negotiator here," Hunt informed whoever was listening on the other end.

"We told you we ain't got nothin' else to say!" crackled a snarling man. "No Judge is gettin' in here! We want you to clear out and give us space to go!"

"She's here to work that out for you and check on the hostages. In fact she's about the only thing keeping me from taking the risk on the hostages," Hunt answered. "And if you don't return her none of you will walk out of this alive. So, do you want to talk to her?"

There was silence for a long stretch.

"No Lawgiver," the reply came warily. "Fifteen minutes and she's back out."

Anderson removed her gun belt without so much as batting a lash as Hunt's jaw muscles worked. He watched her give it to Dredd.

"She'll be at your door in two minutes," he replied, his voice almost grating on his throat. Putting the radio receiver down he crossed his arms. "You sure about being unarmed?" he asked. Anderson nodded. Hunt glanced behind them at more approaching feet.

"Zippy little thing, whatever that bike was," Gibson remarked. "Hey Hunt."

"Judge Slocum," Hunt ignored Gibson in favor of the immensely powerful Judge standing behind them.

"I'll be fine," Anderson assured Hunt.

"Have you ever negotiated before? Outside the sims?"

"No sir."

Hunt did growl this time. His helmet turned towards Dredd once before he looked at Anderson again.

"Those men in there are part of a group recently that's cropped up calling themselves the Neon Knights. They're technophobes to an extreme. They started this over the new personality implants developed by Wex Corps. Fifty people died today because they were counted robot sympathizers. _Don't_ underestimate them kid."

"I plan to go in and get their numbers, locations, and leaders," Anderson replied. "And once I have them you will have them."

"Anyone ever tell you a helmet was important?" Hunt asked, passing her a small ear piece.

"All the time," she smiled, discernible only as a slight easing of the skin around her eyes. She taped the little mike against her throat and then turned away on a heel. Taking a deep breath she stood poised to go as Hunt took the radio again.

"We're sending her in. Shoot her and you'll wish you were dead when I'm through with you," he informed the other end. Anderson gave it three seconds before striding out past the barriers, her boots splashing in oil and firelight gleaming on her hair through the riot gas. "Dredd, take your posse and meet up with the team working up into the building via the sewers. I want you in that building before her negotiation time is up," Hunt tapped a spot on a map next to the block schematics. "Tune to comm link 6.56-9."

Dredd only made his way back to his light bike, Gibson taking long strides to catch up.

"So we feel good about her ability to walk in there alone and unarmed?" his old Academy mate asked. Dredd nodded as his bike revved to life. Gibson pursed his lips. Scruffy Jack with his helmet on turned his bike around sharply.

When they arrived a few city blocks away at another knot of Judges and made their presence known they were hurried down a manhole and led through the sloshing, reeking sewers along slick steps and slime coated walls. They came upon a team of Judges cutting through the steel doors sealing off the chambers beneath the residential Kaku block just as the biggest of them, a hulk both wide and tall, set his shoulder against the cut metal and pushed. Dredd was about to throw his shoulder in too when the metal gave with a groan and then thumped free. The brute clapped dust from his hands and looked back.

"Judges," he nodded to them before he fixed on Slocum's distinctive helmet with its skull. "Didn't know SJS had an interest in this riot." His tone was neutral.

"Kadivar," Slocum replied simply.

"Change in plans boys. We all go in the southeast hatch." He seemed to glance at Dredd's badge. "Judge Dredd, if you'll take your team in the northeast we should have them on both sides." He pointed out the route on a map held out by a Judge beside him. Dredd glanced at the route, memorizing the way through the catacombs ahead.

"Fifty three Neon Knights," Anderson's voice came through low in Dredd's helmet, almost husky. At the sound of her voice Kadivar's shoulders pulled back a little and his helmet shifted to bore holes through Slocum. "231 hostages all in the local supermarket, northeast corner. Six gunmen are mixed in with the civilians, happy to escape with them or snipe any rescue depending on the tides. Eight men are openly in charge of the situation there. The rest have taken cover near the entrance. Far as I can tell there are three men keeping this together. One with the hostages, and two at the entrance. They wear cross rings on their right index fingers."

"Are you being sent out?" Hunt's voice came over the comm.

"Oh no, I'm inspecting hostages still," Anderson replied. "All in good standing barring a few wounds and maybe a concussion. Sit tight sweetie," Anderson intoned to someone on the other end. "I can buy you a full minute once the action starts, maybe another thirty seconds and then it'll go off like a pop gun in here."

"Give us two to get in place," Dredd replied via his glove comm.

"Sir," Anderson agreed.

"You three go with Kadivar's team to handle the men in the entrance. I'll assist Anderson with the hostages," Slocum instructed. He was technically a superior officer and refusing a direct order from him could lead to backlash but something didn't sit right with Dredd about this. Slocum was good for a fight as SJS had to be exceptional fighters to tackle crooked Judges but something was different.

"Too many gunmen to hostages," Dredd shook his head. The small skull on Slocum's helmet seemed to leer at him as the SJS officer turned to look at him. "Gibson, Jack, go with Kadivar. We'll meet up with you once hostages have been secured."

"How will she keep those men distracted?" Gibson asked curiously, before Slocum could make a reply.

"Move it," Kadivar and Dredd growled in unison. They both shared a split second of surprise at the other's snarled distraction tactic before seeming to immediately pick up the suspicion that the other knew what Anderson was. Both teams filed into the opening swiftly, Kadivar gesturing Dredd ahead of him before following with the grace of a wolf.

Moving swift and silent Dredd and Slocum split off from Kadivar, following the twists and turns along until they reached a service door in the northeast end of the building. Hurrying up the ladder Dredd eased the hatch open, peering around in a deserted maintenance room. Shouldering it open he pulled himself up and made for the door.

Time was slipping past them as the Slocum emerged. They opted for silencers in the event of trouble and passed through the hallways swiftly. Dredd took point and got them to an access terminal. Slocum covered the nearby doorways as Dredd scoured the information in the terminal. He found the supermarket Anderson had mentioned and navigated both of them towards it until they encountered a nervous guard standing watch in the hall, finger twitching near the trigger of an automatic weapon.

He was in a strange uniform, dressed in what looked like a traditional tabard from stories of knights, black with an almost painfully bright neon green cross running down the chest in a plain pattern. Strapped to his face was a mask bearing elements of a skull and what looked like patterns of circuitry and gears. A hood was pulled up over the back of his head and he shifted his weight repeatedly. Beyond him Dredd could see another guard in the hall outside the market.

"We're ready Kadivar. You?" Dredd asked.

"Ready here. Hunt?" Kadivar replied in the same soft burr over their communicators.

"Team ready to blaze through the front doors once you give us the word the hostages are safe Anderson," Hunt answered. Dredd watched the men in the hallway seem to suddenly still, their restless shifting coming to a halt as they stood in a mindless daze.

"Go," Anderson advised. Dredd and Slocum had set their Lawgivers to stun and dropped both men in the hallway. Slocum stopped and zip tied wrists together as Dredd moved on forward, dropping the mindless four guards as he entered the supermarket where they stood.

"Where are the others?" Dredd asked over the sound of Kadivar's voice distantly commanding the Knights surrender their weapons before the Judges applied lethal force. Anderson was crouched beside him as the ocean of gathered faces looked up at him nervously, the sounds of Slocum zip tying men seemingly overly loud.

Anderson lifted her head and six men stood up. They were all middle aged and healthy. Anderson's eyes narrowed and they all sort of mechanically drew pistols, removing the clips before they dropped them. People jerked back and away like ripples in water. Dredd dropped each one with a well placed shot and Slocum hurried forward to secure them as well. Stiffly Anderson got to her feet.

"Are you good for this?" Dredd asked, handing her back her Lawgiver and holster.

"Absolutely sir," she nodded, buckling it in place with practiced familiarity.

"You people barricade yourselves," Slocum instructed as he zip tied the last man. "These men don't get free. The Hall of Justice will return to collect them." Mute nods went around and the three Judges departed. "I'm looking forward to our conversation Anderson. You've improved quite significantly," Slocum informed her as they moved towards the sound of opening fire.

"Hostages free Judge Hunt," Anderson said into her microphone instead, Lawgiver in hand.

It was barely five minutes before the gun battle had finished with more Judges blowing through the barricaded doors, Hunt leading the assault. Anderson directed the clean up, tracking strays and Judge Jack did an admirable job in catching four of the ones she pointed out. When the dust settled and 46 of the 53 men were rounded up and packed into pat-wagons – the other 7 had been killed in the firefight – Dredd and his team went to report in to Hunt.

"Cas," Kadivar nodded at Anderson as they approached.

"Raj," Anderson nodded back.

"Good to have you back in the city." The giant Judge held out a fist to her and she bumped knuckles with him.

"What unit are you with again?" Hunt demanded.

"Right now I'm under special assignment with Judge Ecks sir," Anderson replied.

"Any chance of getting you into Sector 8 here? I'd take you on in a heartbeat kid. Whatever skills you've got we need 'em."

"Thank you sir but you'll have to take that up with Judge Ecks," Anderson shook her head, a smile in her voice.

"Ecks huh? He's got an eye for talent and doesn't share," Hunt folded his arms across his chest. "I'll have my eye on you Anderson. Ecks is my only real competition since Dredd'll never make Sector Chief with his aversion to paperwork. As for you Kadivar, not bad at all. Thought I was in a bind once Brock ate a bullet but you're a born leader."

"Thank you sir. Brock make it out okay?"

"Medics got him patched up. He'll be back up in a day or so though he'll be restricted to paperwork for a good week." Hunt replied. Slocum took a step away from the small gathering and murmured something into his glove comm. Dredd saw Kadivar's bear paw hand settle on his Lawgiver and the muscles in his jaw tighten. Between the helmet and the larger respirator nothing else was particularly visible. Anderson pulled her respirator free and wiped copious amounts of thick, dark blood away from her face, some of it peeling and flaking away. It made sense that stupefying fourteen minds at once was a strain on her but she seemed sound enough. When she'd wiped the respirator clean of excess blood she put it back in place and drew a breath deep enough to lift her narrow shoulders.

"We've still got to make our report Anderson," Dredd reminded her.

"Dredd, thank you," Hunt held out his hand and the two of them shook. "Just like old times."

"I always thought 8 was a soft assignment," Dredd remarked and Hunt snorted.

"Hardly. They hire out all the dirty work is all. More paper trails maybe, but they're as violent as anyone else. More money at stake," Hunt shook his head. "I'll have my eye on you Judge Anderson. You too Kadivar."

"Actually I'll be taking Judge Anderson back to SJS," Slocum stepped forward and laid a hand almost possessively on her shoulder. Kadivar curbed a visible impulse to snatch her away from him. "The orders were downloaded into your glove computer Dredd if you care to check." Dredd did so, not because he thought Slocum was lying but because he wanted to know _exactly_ what they said. It was notification that SJS was investigating the recent activities outside the Wall and assessing the training Anderson had received to ensure nothing untoward had occurred outside MC1's jurisdiction.

"I'll get those reports in to you Judge Dredd," Anderson shirked Slocum's hand. "Raj, can you ask Colt to keep watering my plants and tell her I'm back in the city rather than still outside the Wall?"

"The quick tempered red head in the 140th?" Kadivar asked. Anderson nodded. "Done."

"It's been an honor sir," Anderson gave Dredd a salute, her dark eyes looking up at him. He saw in them she had a tight rein on her emotions, resignation showing through most clearly. There was no plea for help, no silent communication for him so he nodded instead and watched her walk away with perfectly squared shoulders and climb on behind Slocum. As they pulled away he saw Kadivar roll his shoulders and heard the joints in his neck crack as he tilted his head to either side.

"What's SJS want with her?" Hunt asked.

"Slocum's been trying to attach her to SJS since the Academy," Kadivar answered.

"Must be classmates," Hunt observed. Kadivar just nodded. "Well, we here in Sector 8 can handle cleanup. I'm sure the rest of the city's been having a field day. See you Dredd." Hunt excused himself to issue rapid fire orders to the Judges under his command.

"Neither of you like Slocum," Dredd told Kadivar. The big man stared at him for a long moment.

"No sir," he answered finally. "I don't like the way he looks at her."

"Why?" Dredd asked. He knew he didn't like something about the way Slocum looked at her but Kadivar could have ulterior motives. Kadivar sighed heavily.

"We look out for each other sir. Always have. And sure as I'm a man I _know _Slocum sees a woman, not a Judge and not a..." he broke off.

"Psychic," Dredd supplied with a succinct nod. "She ever say anything?"

"No," Kadivar shook his head. "And Slocum's not stupid. Far as I can tell he's never stepped out of line. But I don't like his eyes on her. Feels like its just a matter of time, sir."

Dredd stood still as he thought about this. There was nothing that could be done about a physical attraction and if Anderson didn't say anything herself about being uncomfortable there was no way for him to intervene. There again he got the feeling she had learned how to separate herself from the urges of others around her and was just dealing with something the same way Slocum should be. Judges were human. They felt things and there was nothing that could be done about that. It was acting on those feelings that was dangerous.

"If something changes you call me Kadivar," Dredd instructed. "I'll handle it."

"Thank you, sir," Kadivar nodded, relief evident in his voice.

"Gibson! Jack! We're going!" Dredd barked, his temper writhing in black veins of unrest.


	2. Unorthodox

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the Dredd characters, places, etc.

**A/N: **I'm so glad to see familiar names attaching themselves to this story! Many thanks for the reviews, especially you guys without accounts that I can't thank regularly! I hope this chapter is pleasing. It made me grin in a devilish kind of way. :]

Chapter 2: Unorthodox

It felt good to pull the respirator free and breathe normally. Anderson could still feel the itchy trails of blood peeling down her chin. She was left at last on her own in a familiar interrogation room, her reflection keeping her company out of the corner of one eye. She knew there were people on the other side of the mirror, Judge Percy the only SJS operative she recognized of the three observing her. Percy was usually somewhere close by, holding some nebulous position of power within the SJS ranks. Slocum had left and she didn't mind letting his presence fade out of her awareness.

Anderson took the time to wipe her chin clean and then perched it on her hands. Her psychic walls felt slipshod and she kept getting stray fragments of thought, panic from a nearby room, misery from an SJS officer who was disappointed having to arrest an old school mate, despair, and on and on. She bolstered her defenses sluggishly, thinking just a month ago she would have been sitting perfectly upright in an outright refusal to show weakness. Now all she could think was that she didn't feel quite so weak and at the mercy of SJS. Part of her realized this was a dangerous opinion but by the same token she meant not to be under their thumb more than was necessary.

The door opened and she turned around to face an unfamiliar presence not dressed in a uniform at all. His hair was a little unruly in black spurs and he was scruffy. He was familiar for some reason. A scar glanced over his right eye and his cheek bones, nose bridge, and jaw had all apparently been broken a few times. The left eye was gone, replaced by a golden bionic one with plates banded back around his skull. She thought maybe once he'd been handsome but that was a number of years and beatings ago, deep grooves of hardship around his remaining eye and mouth. He looked at her surprised but got pushed the rest of the way into the room before the door closed and locked behind him.

"Well, you're not what I expected," he remarked as he put his hands in the thick coverall pockets. His shoulders were wide and he was tall. Something in his tone was charismatic, perhaps the half smile that accompanied the statement. He looked her over from head to toe before taking careful steps forward. He'd clearly spent some time in Low G.

"You either," she answered, checking that Percy and the others were still on the other side of the glass. Cal and Slocum had both joined their observation party. The man pulled a chair back, his knuckles callused and cracked, clearly used to hard labor. He settled into it and then carefully set his hands on the table, lacing his fingers together, and fixed her in his mismatched stare.

"You're not as green as I thought at first, Judge Anderson," he said, glancing at her badge and then returning to her face. "Young though. Most Judges don't have eyes like yours until they've been on the job a while."

"What's the offense?" Anderson asked, shifting so her head rested on one hand while the other palm came down to lay flat on the bolted interrogation table.

"Aren't you supposed to tell me?" he quirked one eyebrow.

"I'm not really sure what's going on right now," she shrugged with a jaded smile.

"Under investigation are you? Maybe its a mix up. Did you tap the glass?" he leaned back, hands remaining clasped as they dropped into his lap.

"They're back there," she shrugged. "They'll do what they're going to do in their own time."

"Maybe they're trying to see if we're compatible. I've been told I have great genetics. Could be a new program to replace the cloning tanks," he shot her a smile that made him handsome by its conspiratorial nature.

"Adam and Eve are we?" she returned and appreciated the rough chuckle of a voice that hadn't gotten much use for a while.

"If only sweets. If only. You probably weren't around yet in my heyday. We'd have been trouble then, you and I."

"Another time, another place," she shrugged and his smile came in wide, a few teeth missing along the top left side of his jaw, further towards the back. He turned his head and glanced back at the door, knuckles rubbing along the bottom of his scruffy jaw. It shifted the coveralls so she could see a burn pattern on the back of his hand and what looked like old stitch marks over a scar where someone must have tried to slit his throat. She wanted to drop her shields and figure out who and what he was but she hesitated. She had no idea what game was going on but a larger reason she refrained from plundering his mind was an unusual satisfaction that came from the back and forth. The fact he was totally unexpected made him almost unbearably curious.

"So then, what are _you_ in for? This is SJS and you're a Judge waiting in an interrogation room. Maybe I'm the Spanish Inquisition and you're the heretic," his attention came back.

"Witchcraft," she shrugged and he chuckled again.

"You could be four hundred pounds of ugly and still not need to bewitch me, Judge Anderson."

"Incarcerated for a while then," she surmised. He nodded. Anderson stood up and reached across the table. She took his chin and turned his head slightly, then moved the collar down so she could see the brand there on his throat, settled just below the corner of his jaw. It was a perfect ring. "Former Judge," she realized. Many convicted Judges would be branded by the muzzle of a Lawgiver in a frowned upon method of hazing upon their arrival at the penal colony of Titan.

"Long time ago," he nodded as she sat back down. His square fingers brushed the skin at his neck. "You don't give much away Judge Anderson. Hard case. Racketeering here."

"Somehow I don't think you're the right kind of sorry," she narrowed her eyes. He shrugged.

"Its too bad you're not my parole officer. That's why I'm here now."

"Think I'm lenient?"

"No, I think you'll pull a trigger if you have to. Don't think much gets by you either." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, eyes detailing her face.

"Charmer."

"There are any number of things I would love to charm you into doing. I'm just sorry there won't be much opportunity if you're about to be convicted of something. They're rough out there on Titan and they'll love a little jewel like you. Or at least until you claw your way up to top dog. It'll take some sacrifices," he tapped his cybernetic eye. "But the top's the only place you know? Or you get under the right one," his smile slashed crooked and Anderson chuckled this time.

"I'll bear it in mind," she replied. Her unexpected guest pursed his lips and studied her.

"Name's Rico," he held out a hand to her. She clasped it and was impressed he didn't try to crush her palm. Instead it was a firm shake and he let her go in both an appropriate time span and fashion.

"Anderson," she made him smile by not handing out her first name. Anderson was common enough a name she'd be hard to find again without more information.

"Andy it is," he decided. "So what's new in Mega City One since I left twenty years ago?"

"Mega City Three is independent now and called Texas City, the Luna-1 moon base is finished, and right now we're having riots over Robot Rights," Anderson shrugged.

"Exciting. I noticed Kennedy Space Port had lots more shuttles. They still mining in the Asteroid belt?" Rico asked and settled more comfortably, his posture loosening as he tucked his hands behind his head. His nonchalance belied the spark of eagerness in his remaining human eye. Because she had no other instructions and didn't care what the men on the other side of the glass were thinking she answered Rico's questions patiently, feeding him information about world events to the best of her knowledge. This went on for about forty five minutes before Rico glanced at the one way mirror reflecting both of them grinning after some cracks at Russian politics.

"I hope they think they're getting somewhere with this," he commented. "No offense Andy but it's been twenty years since I've stood in real sunlight or eaten a burger or hell, slept in a bed. Your company is great like this but we could be doing better things, together or separate. I hope they've got plans to process us or whatever they're going to do."

Anderson just shrugged. Rico swung up to his feet and stretched, pulling the zipper of his coveralls down and worming out of the top half, tying the arms around his waist. In the undershirt beneath she could see the contours of muscle built like banded iron from twenty years hard of labor. The skin exposed on his forearms and part of his biceps before vanishing under sleeves was a mosaic of scars derived from old cuts and what looked like burns. He sat back down and pulled a deck of cards out of a boot, ratty and tattered. They whirred through his fingers.

"Since gambling's illegal how's about some go fish?" he looked up at her through long, sooty lashes over his organic eye. Anderson shrugged.

In another forty five minutes of their playing assorted card games ranging from go fish to crazy eights to spider the door knob finally twisted. Neither Anderson nor Rico looked up from an intense decision of Rico's during a round of old maid, his fingers moving back and forth along her cards before he pulled out the joker. Anderson smirked as he sighed dramatically and slouched back against his chair.

"You've been here almost two hours," Cal said, arms crossed as he glared down at her.

"Been that long?" Rico asked.

"What can you tell me about this...man," he spat the term like an insult. Rico glanced between Cal and Anderson curiously.

"He's bad at old maid," she answered, watching Cal's face flush with indignation. "He was a Judge, put away for racketeering, back after twenty years on Titan, eager for news, horny, and ready to meet his P.O. and move on."

"You were supposed to find out his secrets, see if he's sorry," Cal told her with a brittle tone.

"Sir, without orders how am I to know that?" she asked politely. "You brought me here to question me about what went on in the Cursed Earth. This man has done his time and is under no suspicion or charges at present. Your protocol says its bad form to simply invade his mind without proper need."

"A psychic huh?" Rico asked, gathering up the cards. Cal snatched the pack away from the much bigger man when they'd been put back in their old box. The former Judge's jaw muscles worked against a sudden flare of anger and the first touch of a curbed tendency to violence. Anderson knew he could be dangerous if he chose – that described every Judge in Mega City One – but this was the first time it had manifested more openly in his general signature. "Maybe that's why you're good at old maid."

"Games aren't as fun if you cheat," Anderson shook her head.

"She might not be as interested in playing if she'd bothered to read your mind," Cal stalked over towards the one way mirror. He turned and leaned against it, Slocum closing the door to the interrogation room as he joined them. Rico seemed to shift somehow, his charming air morphing into something considerably more dangerous. Suddenly his focus was sharper, eyes frozen like a permafrost that had never known enough warmth to melt it.

"Rico, this is Cassandra Anderson, the only rookie Joseph Dredd ever passed," Cal gestured at her and Rico's eyes found her like sudden death. "Judge Anderson, this is Rico Dredd, twin brother of your mentor, put away for twenty years after abusing the people in a protection scam and beating several within an inch of their lives. Judge Dredd is the one who put him away for it."

Cal wanted both of them to be upset, for her to do something stupid. She hadn't crawled through Rico's mind and broken protocol and she wasn't about to provoke _Judge Dredd's_ Titan hardened twin into an outright fight by saying something snide.

"He served his time," she replied. "What is the difference to me who's brother he is or who put him away? Justice was served and is done, and it still leaves me no right to move through his thoughts Deputy Chief Judge Cal." A vein stood out in the side of Cal's head.

"No wonder you look like a veteran," Rico said, his tone light but his gaze frigid. "Joey's a real stickler and always puts duty before everything, even his own safety."

"He's a good Judge," Anderson nodded. Rico's eyes narrowed.

"And straight as an arrow," his features smoothed back into something more like the expression he'd worn when he first walked in.

"Get him out of here," Cal snapped at Slocum. Cal's second stepped forward and Rico stood up.

"Can I have my cards back?" Dredd's twin asked as Anderson studied him more carefully. He was sturdier, more muscled than Dredd.

"Confiscated," Cal shook his head. Rico pursed his lips as irritation flashed through his psyche but kept clear of his face.

"Cassandra's a nice name," he turned his focus to her instead. "And you sure are a sight for sore eyes kid. Thanks for the company and the game of cards. Most Judges wouldn't give the fallen the time of day."

"Stay out of trouble hmm?" Anderson replied, smiling despite herself. Rico smiled back, his eyes intense and fixed on hers.

"Be seein' ya Cassandra," he purred her name in such a way prickles ran up her spine, maybe because his vocal chords had loosened up and she heard Dredd's voice coming out of him. He dipped his chin once before leaving with Slocum. Anderson rushed to sort out the prickles as good or bad and settled on the explanation that Rico had been dripping with animal lust and a charismatic charm that unsettled her for their intensity and a base line response that made her heart speed up a few beats a minute. It wasn't Dredd's voice, it was Rico's presence. That would make seeing Dredd awkward next time she thought ruefully.

The door closed and left Anderson with Cal. Percy and the others were still on the opposite side of the glass. Cal was silent a long few minutes while Anderson was patient. At length the Deputy Chief Judge pulled back the recently vacated chair opposite her.

"I was not in good form earlier in Goodman's office," he said very carefully, his hands flexed out wide before carefully matching up each finger tip. When he spoke he was looking at the table, icy blue eyes blazing like a cold light at a point towards its center. "You should not have seen me that way. I crossed a line. You have been compliant with our regulations in every way and have proved your metal time and again Judge Anderson. The Chief Judge has not placed her trust foolishly."

"Thank you sir," Anderson said after a pause, her tone cautious as she waited for the other shoe to drop.

"All the same its my job to know what Judges are doing and putting you under the influence of other powerful psychics unsupervised is an egregious threat. Perhaps they worked some change in you that you yourself are unaware of. My concern is the safety of the citizens and your fellow Judges. Do you understand?"

"Those are the duties of SJS," Anderson nodded once.

"Now detail for me exactly what transpired from crossing the Wall out to crossing the Wall to return to the Hall of Justice."

So Anderson recounted everything that had transpired and described for him with absolute detail the people, places, and events. Cal crossed his arms and listened with a patience that came from a man used to shadowy work. Anderson had always known him as cuttingly bright and a master of leverage, well educated and usually careful in his steps. His outburst earlier was startlingly out of place despite an admittedly dramatic streak running through him.

Slocum departed briefly and returned with a plastic bottle of water for her before resuming his place at the door. It took hours to complete the story, to explain what had happened in that first two weeks and to try and tell them about the Tooth Collector. The Valley of Hearts just opened up question after question, men on the other side of the glass in awe of her telling, skeptical too. Slocum and Cal grilled her, came up with questions from every angle about this creature, and she gave them what she could.

Once the narrative had been completed she was questioned about her abilities, what her training had been, and what her new capabilities were. She answered and informed, feeling her stomach sink lower and lower as the blood seemed to drain from Cal's face and his lips pressed together in a tight line. By contrast Slocum's eyebrows raised and he rubbed his chin.

"I want to see it for myself," Cal said when at last her hoarse voice fell silent. She nursed the dregs of her fifth water bottle refill. "I want to know what you really can do. Blackthorn! Bring me Al-Sayid! Slocum, have the boys pull Juliet November out of stasis. Set her up in the basement level." Anderson recognized the name from the list Goodman had given her and repressed a groan.

"May I be allowed to use the bathroom?" she asked. Cal shrugged and the door opened. Anderson was allowed out. Judge Percy still in his helmet nodded at her.

"Welcome back," he said, managing to keep the fear out of his voice. His signature rippled with it like rain on a lake surface.

"Bring her to basement level 12 in an hour. See that she eats something in the mean time. Its well past dinner," Cal instructed. Percy's body language said he would rather take the Long Walk into the Cursed Earth but he nodded instead. He and Anderson made their way together to an elevator for an uncomfortable ride down to the canteen.

The canteen was noisy and crowded. Anderson grabbed little more than a protein bar in order to avoid confrontation on a full stomach. Her guts were churning with anxiety as she pulled the wrapper off and took a bite, standing and staring out one of the windows.

"Anderson?" came a familiar voice. She turned around and saw her old Unit Chief Matheson with his racing stripe scars. He looked her over from top to bottom, a cup of coffee in one hand. "I thought that was you. How's life under Ecks?"

"Eventful," she answered, giving him a sharp salute. He waved that off and came to stand next to her gazing out the window. "How's the 140th?"

"Eventful," Matheson replied with a little smirk. "Colt's missed you. There's a new rookie at your desk and she's gone out of her way to make his life Hell."

"How's he working out?"

"He's a work in progress," Matheson shrugged. "You've lost some weight. I didn't think my shifts were exactly easy."

"I've been running a lot of extra training," Anderson shook her head. "Stuff that would put Griffin to shame." Matheson whistled.

"Don't envy you that Anderson. SJS still on your ass?" Anderson turned to look at him as Matheson took a sip of his coffee. He raised his eyebrows innocently. "I had to turn over reports to Slocum every week. One on you and a copy of everything you'd turned in to me. I was sure once they got you in your own unit they'd have backed off."

"Yeah but I went through some pretty intensive training so..." Anderson trailed off.

"So you've improved," he smirked again. "Well if your new unit doesn't work out the 140th will take you back. Colt would mount a one woman assault if asked." Anderson laughed at that, a sudden burst of mirth she needed after making her report to Cal. "I'm going to guess by your escort there that I shouldn't alert her to your presence yet?"

"I'd rather not. She doesn't know exactly what I am yet and its supposed to be very hush hush."

Matheson was quiet next to her as he stared at the city.

"I'm going to give you some unorthodox advice," he said after wrestling with something. "I'm not sure which is going to get you first; the job or SJS. But you're not meant to die an old woman Anderson. If you follow every regulation it'll take you sooner. If Colt means something to you put her above the job where you can. Before you two got to be friends I was waiting for a medic to walk in and hand me her badge because she didn't have anything else in the world but the job."

"Sir...we're not..." Anderson started and Matheson raised his hand.

"Doesn't matter. Its a bitter life as a Judge. Your mind in particular is wired to connect. You'll live longer, be happier, and do better work for the city. As one Judge to another, tell your friend before they announce Psi-Division."

"As unit chief?" she asked, unable to help the smile.

"The key to a happy life is the fulfillment of your duties and exact execution of your orders lest we descend into chaos," he gestured at the city outside their window.

"Anderson, its time," Percy called from his polite fifteen feet away. Matheson glanced at the SJS member.

"Colt gets off her shift in another hour, but she's backlogged on paperwork. Chances are great you'll catch her at her desk, not that I have an opinion on the matter."

"Do me a favor?" Anderson asked while Matheson raised his eyebrows. She passed him some cash. "Get her a salmon burrito from Brixton's would you? And some OJ from the convenience store between here and there?"

"Give the woman a new unit and suddenly I'm little better than the mail clerk," Matheson took the money and put it into his back pocket. He finished off his coffee and tossed the cup into a nearby trash can. Anderson gave him another salute which he waved off again before departing with long strides.

"Lets go Judge Percy," Anderson sighed, suddenly feeling much lighter.


	3. Bugged

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the Judge Dredd Characters, places, etc.

**A/N:** Once again thank you for the many reviews! It is definitely a treat!

Chapter 3: Bugged

It had been a rough night on the streets. The city seemed to roil with unrest for a number of different reasons, all circling back on the recent robot personality programming. Dredd had thrown some forty people into pat wagons and broken up brawlers, chased looters, and arrested men attacking and destroying servo-robots going about their errands. Some thirty hours after the hostage situation in Sector 8, Dredd finally arrived back at his Sector 13 headquarters to file reports on the activities. His mind flicked to Anderson almost reflexively, imagining her enduring whatever tests they had laid out and sitting patiently through her interrogation.

As he sat down at his desk and stared at a layer of dust gathered on the keyboard he tried to resign himself to the sheer volume of reports he would have to write. Even though Anderson had volunteered to take his share of the paperwork, there was still plenty of time they had spent apart out there. He turned on the computer and watched the prompts flash by in indecipherable Tek babble.

While on the streets he had gathered that there were two main factions rising in Mega City One. Those causing the riots were often associated with these Neon Knights that had holed up in Sector 8. On the peaceful end were those petitioning for the humane treatment of robo-servants augmented with emotional programming. That side was lead by one Eliza Del Monte, the very woman he had fined just over a month ago at the Robot of the Year show.

It was a simple matter to look up her name and number. She had been entered into the Hall of Justice database once all the rioting had starting, particularly as she was on the opposite end of the spectrum. He lifted the phone and punched in the corresponding numbers, waiting patiently. It was getting late.

"Tyler Del Monte," came a masculine voice on the other end.

"I'm looking for Eliza Del Monte," Dredd replied simply.

"And who is 'I'?" the man demanded, his tone quickly shifting into hostility.

"Judge Dredd, Sector 13 of the Hall of Justice," Dredd replied. There was dumbfounded silence on the other end.

"Eliza!" he called, the sound muffled as if he'd put a hand over the receiver. There was some muted shuffling, indistinct words exchanged.

"Eliza Del Monte," a woman answered at length.

"Already a month and the city's in an uproar Miss Del Monte. Perhaps one credit was too lenient," Dredd said.

"Judge Dredd," he heard the smile in her voice. "I was wondering if I'd hear from you. Things have certainly kicked up into a fuss."

"What do you know about this?"

"Not much. My opposition isn't helping their case any with all these riots." The man, Tyler, was mumbling something to her. Dredd listened as the phone shifted. "Judge Dredd, would you excuse me? I've got something that needs taking care of."

"Miss Del Monte, don't make me come down there and look for you."

"We'll have tea at three tomorrow. You should come down then," she insisted. "I'm sorry Judge, I need to go." The line went dead before he could object further. He leaned forward to redial before pausing. He changed his mind and instead dialed a different number. The phone went a handful of rings.

"Mmm-ellow?" mumbled someone into the receiver.

"Rosenberg," Dredd stated. There was more shuffling.

"Sir," Rosenberg sounded more alert. "Heard anything about Judge Anderson yet? Judge Ecks only said she was in a debriefing."

"No," he shook his head, disappointed Rosenberg hadn't heard anything. "Would you be able to discern whether or not someone's house has been bugged in the next half hour?"

"Simple enough unless one of our Teks did it. Give me the number and I'll tell you who you're dealing with, us or someone outside the Hall."

Dredd rattled off the phone number, listening as a door clicked shut behind Rosenberg. There were people in the background, men's voices. Dredd had called the barracks that housed Rosenberg close to Tower Argos and chances were they had an impressive array of machinery at their disposal so the Tek wouldn't even have to commute.

"Call you back when I have something," Rosenberg replied. He disconnected and Dredd set the receiver down. He turned to filing reports in the mean time, finding the half hour crawling by. After twenty five minutes his phone rang. "Bugged. Traces feed back to a building owned by a Rourke Kenny. Sent the addresses to you. Whoever did the bugging has either rudimentary skills or has got the place set to trigger an alarm if its breeched. I'm gonna have Ben take a look at it so don't go in guns blazing."

"He's got half an hour," Dredd said, standing up as the information downloaded into his glove computer.

"Sure," Rosenberg agreed.

Dredd made it to the stripped bike in record time and was back out of the parking garage without a thought to the loads of paperwork still waiting for him. That could be dealt with later. He sped along the still crowded roads, ever filled with vehicles in a city that hadn't ever known sleep. The better part of the way to the building he turned off one of the Mega Freeways and into a catacomb of complex slums surrounding some of the poorer blocks. He actually wasn't too far from Peach Trees.

He parked a few blocks from his destination in the heart of squat, concrete buildings crouched beneath criss-crossing electrical wiring and writhing air ducts binding buildings together like a parasitic sprawl. The pavement was gored with potholes and a constant, drizzling mist came down from the chugging window units overhead. The whole place smelled like mildew and too many humans.

There were filthy children playing in the gutters, scuttling between the shadows of an area littered with trash and broken bottles. Dredd crept past them and the whites of their eyes followed him in luminous curiosity. Shutters and doors creaked shut overhead as he made swift progress, cutting through alleys before finally spotting the old apartment building in question.

A woman was squatting outside over a wash tub scrubbing rags worn too many times clean in sudsy water. Never mind it was late she worked like someone would have to wear them in the next five minutes. Skin and bone in the rags of an old sun dress that once had been pink her hair curled in the man-made muggy air. Yellow street light reflected garishly off the sweat on her shoulders and arms. A few open windows revealed light inside the apartments and voices, someone's baby crying. Strange, creeping vines grew out of the cracks around the building's foundation like oily black tendrils. A little boy popped out of one window, almost careening to his death four stories below, before a burly hand had the back of his shorts and hauled him up. He triumphantly displayed the toy he'd saved from plummeting only to receive a cuff and shouts made rough with fear.

Speaking of little boys a scrawny one sort of crab walked up to him, squatting and holding onto his ankles as he lurched towards him in an awkward attempt at nonchalance. His dark skin and huge dark eyes under sooty lashes were schooled into a comedic interpretation of minding his own business.

"Oy Judge," he whispered loudly. "There a raid?"

"Get back to your toys kid," he replied, checking the alley for more of the children. Like hungry alley cats their heads peered around a dumpster, three more, one with pig tails that stuck straight up.

"Sammy stole my ball. Could you get it back? Its my property," the boy prompted.

"Really kid, scram," Dredd growled.

"Its a real injustice Judge," his face pinched in concern. "I worked two weeks to get it, hard labor and blisters and finally got enough money to buy it! And then Sammy took it like I owed him! Like it was his right!"

There was a pop of gunfire and Dredd instinctively pulled the kid behind him, pushing his head down so the boy was completely shielded between Dredd's Kevlar and the building. The other kids melted back into shadows at the same time the washing woman jumped. She left the clothing there and scurried inside. There were two more shots several blocks over.

"Get back home," Dredd commanded gruffly. He hated to leave the apartment building but figured the inhabitants and situation there wouldn't change. There was a fair chance nearby gunshots could be related, but then in a slum like this it was more likely it was a separate crime.

Two blocks over a body was diffusing blood into a slimy puddle face down. It was a small caliber weapon that had killed the man, one shot through the throat from the front, two more in the back once he was down. So that made it a murder commit in anger rather than a hit. A hit man would have gone through the back of the head rather than random shots through the back.

"Control this is Dredd," he rumbled into his glove comm. "Resyche down in Sector 16, Elm and Grant in the alley."

"Copy that Dredd," came the answer.

Rolling the body over he saw the shirt was unbuttoned and lipstick was there on the collar. The smell of alcohol was all over the man. There were plenty of cheap whores in places like this and as many dens selling contraband ranging from alcohol to narcotics to amphetamines. He considered his options, the direction the perp might have fled, and turned at the feel of eyes upon him to look at the boy and the other children crouched like wild things.

"Know him?" Dredd asked because there wasn't an ID. The boy came forward on all fours and Dredd realized his legs were too short, the proportions similar to pictures he'd seen of German shepherds. His jaw was narrow and sharp. He looked up, perhaps of Hispanic origins, with big dark eyes.

"That's Isidro Simonis," he informed Dredd. "He likes him the ladies in bright colors and makeup like exotic birds."

"Any that would be jealous?"

"Probably his wife," the boy shrugged. "But Espironza is the kind of girl who goes and tells Jesus about her problems. She trusts him to fix them."

"Take me to her," Dredd instructed, resolving there were too many directions to leave the scene. The other children hissed at him in another language and he responded back, scaring them off with short, yipping commands.

"This way Judge," the boy intoned, loping ahead on all fours. Dredd followed behind him, around to a building next to the one he'd been observing. The stairs creaked as they ascended onto the third floor and there was the smell of cooking oil and spices saturated into the very paint. The boy squatted and knocked on the door, putting his ear against it as he listened. A woman inside said something and he rattled a reply.

The woman on the other side hesitated before slowly opening the door. She was pretty in a housewife kind of way, a little softened by age and good meals, an apron tied around her middle in faded frills, her hair piled atop her head functionally. She looked up with a face that must have glowed once but showed wariness and anticipated ill news.

"You Judge?" she asked as her eyes flicked to his face. "About Isidro?" Tears gathered as a wild, ill placed hope filled her.

"Dead," he replied. The bones deserted her legs and she collapsed in a heap on her threshold. The boy put timid little hands on her arm as wails wracked her. More doors opened to see what the commotion was, the sounds of televisions and crying babies suddenly increasing. Dredd knelt and offered her a hand up.

"Will you help me catch who did this?" he asked. She looked up at him from between her fingers. Even as her face crumpled into deeper sorrow she took hold of his his hand and climbed onto her boneless legs.

"Come in," she hiccuped, wiping tears away from her face aggressively with both hands. Dredd stepped in and the boy slunk in like a guilty pup.

"I could be help," he insisted, pushing the door shut and circling Dredd's legs just like a dog might. Dredd only rumbled disapprovingly but couldn't deny the boy seemed to know the area. He strode after Espironza and the boy loped along behind him.

"Isidro out lots," Espironza informed him from over the counter separating a tiny dining room and den from a little kitchen. The water was running as she washed pans with scratches along their blackened bottoms and one pot with a dent in the side. "Like to do gamble and the women too."

"Any in particular?" Dredd asked. Espironza chewed on a full lower lip, struggling against the crusted remains of an earlier meal. He glanced at the stove and saw a timer counting down for something in the oven.

"Loida, Deflina, Cande, Roxie," Espironza shrugged one shoulder, another tear careening down her nose and cutting a trail through sudsy dish soap. She rubbed it away. "Many more, names I forgetful. But he go much to Konstantin's. Lotta girls there. We meet there." More tears but the sobs were silent, her eyes shadowed with anger. "You go ask Vikenti at Konstantin. He knows what and where here."

The boy chattered something at her with an intense look in his eyes. Espironza's tears flowed more quickly but her face flushed with anger rather than grief. She shot back a reply, dropping her wash and shouting at the kid. Rather than flinch back the boy shook his head and gestured at the door.

"What are you saying?" Dredd put a hand on the boy's shoulder. He looked up at Dredd.

"Vikenti'll know! Espironza was his best girl four years ago, before Isidro duped her into marryin' him. He'll blow her away. She says she don't care."

"You were one of his girls?" Dredd asked. She lifted her chin defiantly and at once he could see the beauty she had been, dark and handsome with fiery eyes.

"Yes and what so?" she demanded. "You Judges no never help here so I make a way. You go ask Vikenti and I will help me later." The boy made another plea.

"Dredd to control," Dredd growled into his glove comm. "I need pick up for the iso-cubes. Three months for prostitution charges."

"Copy that. Sending pick up to your GPS."

Espironza's nostrils flared and the boy gawked. Three months would be enough time to keep Espironza from facing Vikenti and his thugs' wrath once he busted the prostitution ring. He snapped one end of the cuffs around Espironza's wrist and the other around the door to the fridge. "You boy, take me to Konstantin's."

"S-sir," he stammered. He said a few quick words while Espironza drew a frying pan back over her shoulder and lobbed it. Dredd ducked under it and pointed at her.

"Don't push it. I can tack on resisting arrest and assaulting a Judge," he threatened even as she cocked her arm back to throw another pot. The boy seemed to plead with her and she slowly lowered the second frying pan.

"You Judges no good," she growled. Dredd only let himself out, the boy scuttling ahead of him. He loped on all fours down the hall and scuttled down the stairs headfirst. When they were out on the streets he went ahead, then looped back and circled Dredd once.

"They can't get her in an iso-cube, can they?" he asked. Dredd shook his head. "Thanks Judge," he smiled crookedly before bounding ahead.

It was several streets before they arrived at a larger road lined by taller dilapidated complexes. Rather than the obscured six and seven story blocks common to the surrounding area buildings here rose to about fifty and stood in the shadows of the Gerard Block. People scurried away from him as he strode along the littered streets filled with ruts and pot holes that would have done the nineteenth century proud. The store fronts here mostly had blacked out windows or flashed in neon lights with scantily clad mannequins posed to display their wares.

"Judge Dredd, this is Dante Ognibene of Psi-Division's Tek unit," patched through in his helmet.

"Go ahead," Dredd answered.

"That trace you had 'Berg take a look at, the apartment listed is a decoy. I'm still working to track where the feed actually goes, but you walk into that apartment and she'll blow. Like set off bombs kind of blow."

"How long for you to figure out the actual destination?"

"Not sure. The IP fractures and goes a hundred different directions. It'd be faster if you looked into Rourke Kenny who leased the apartment to one David Brigg. David Brigg was thrown out of the Academy by SJS for hacking their database. But he doesn't use the power there except to keep the machines up and nothing else is on the books as his address."

"Find me a Vikenti from this sector if there's a record," Dredd instructed. He heard the tap of keys.

"Bruno Vikenti, rap sheet as long as my leg, busted for pushin' Slow Mo and assorted other narcotics, running illegal gambling and smoking operations, and numerous charges of pimping and human trafficking. What a winner," Ognibene remarked with a dry sarcasm that suited the deep timbre of his voice. "Sent you his file and the one on Mr. Kenny. Anything else?"

"Get me the address where the bugged info actually goes," Dredd replied.

"Sure," Ognibene answered and the link went dead.

Dredd caught his loping guide by the scruff of the neck as they prepared to turn onto a busier boulevard. The boy looked at him inquisitively as he was set back down behind the Judge.

"How much farther?"

"Just down the road," the boy replied. "Its the building with the golden doors and lion knockers. Why?"

"You scram. I find you anywhere near this place I'll throw you in juvie for a year for interference."

"Aw Judge!" the boy protested.

"Name," Dredd cut him off.

"Todd sir. Jason Todd."

"Run home to your folks Jason Todd."

Grumbling Jason slunk away into the alley. Dredd turned onto the grungy thoroughfare and strode confidently along the doors until he faced a set of metal ones spray painted gold. The lion knockers didn't match, both of them clearly stolen from other doors in more expensive parts of town. Neon lights and music drifted from some of the open windows above. He pulled one of the doors open and walked through a lobby made of chipped tiles that maybe once had been beautiful with their dark green veins. Their white had tarnished yellow and dirt and stains choked the pores and cracks.

A woman all in pink sat at the desk, her face draining of color as he approached. He strode right up to her battered desk, watching the crossword puzzle and pencil drop from her brightly painted fingernails in alarm. She was in her forties and built like an addict, too thin and tough with the wear of a hard life evident in extra lines of care on her face.

"Konstantin's," he said simply. She was shaking, blond dyed, brittle curls falling out of their carefully placed pins. Dredd leaned down a little towards her. "Konstantin's," he repeated. She swallowed, her throat working.

"B2," she whispered hoarsely and handed him a key card. Dredd snapped a cuff around her wrist and another around one of the bolted legs of the desk.

"Six months iso-cubes," he informed her. She nodded with her lips pressed in a thin line, eyes ready to bug out of her head. Dredd walked to the elevator and didn't have to wait for it. He inserted the card and descended the two floors, Lawgiver set to standard, and watched the doors slide open to a smokey bar with low light except for bright spotlights outlining the silhouettes of shapely girls.

"Control this is Dredd. Send another pat-wagon to my present GPS. Not the one that collects Mrs. Simonis," Dredd instructed over the pulse of low playing music centered around a stage. He leaned outside the elevator doors and pressed the up button before selecting all fifty floors inside the elevator and stepping off.

"Wilco Dredd," answered the operator. He strode into the smoke, the room so dim nobody seemed to notice him. That was perfectly fine by his measure as he waded into the murk, the room comprised of dim alcoves and beams of light occupied by women. Dredd made his way to the red light of a floor lit bar that cast strange shadows on the face of the bar tender in suspenders and a bow tie. Dredd moved around the bar and with the application of pressure and use of a pressure point brought the man quietly to his knees before cuffing him to some of the piping. He raised a finger as the man yipped and turned towards him angrily. The whites of his eyes stood out as he shut his mouth beneath its old fashioned handlebar mustache.

"Vikenti," Dredd demanded.

"In the very back, alcove behind the velvet curtains," the bartender whispered hoarsely.

"Stay put and shut up," Dredd instructed. He stood and walked back out from behind the counter, moving further away from the man without so much as looking at the women arrayed there, the girls blind to anything but the thrum of the music.

He pulled back the heavy velvet curtain to expose a game of cards while women were draped across the sharp, burly, or overweight shoulders of the contenders. All eyes turned to him and reflexively they'd gone for firearms but Dredd was faster with his Lawgiver, pointing it right between the eyes of a big man with a bushy beard directly across from him.

"Incendiary," he growled to keep anyone from being willing to sacrifice the bearded man. Hands moved away from weapons and settled palms down on the table. Raising the screen on his gauntlet Dredd looked at the face attached to the name Bruno Vikenti. He shifted his aim to a man with coke bottle glasses, a dusting of freckles on his elvish cheek bones, with his sharp chin propped on girlishly slender fingers. He was staring at Dredd with the lazy disdain of a man accustomed to run ins with the law.

"Welcome Judge. Care to join the game?" he asked in a light accent clearly of Eastern European origins.

"Simionis," Dredd replied. One of Vikenti's pale eyebrows quirked.

"Wrong man," he answered.

"He was here before he wound up dead Vikenti. You can tell me what you know and I'll take it into consideration for crimes including prostitution, operating an establishment without permits for smoking or gambling, and serving alcohol."

"I hope it was Espironza. He ruined her," Vikenti smiled. Dredd almost sighed. He was in for a long night.


	4. Psychic Introductions

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the Dredd characters, places, etc.

**A/N:** Thank you for the reviews! They make me smile! If you're having trouble with alerts, please check your spam settings. I think updated something and I had to prove to my e-mail it was, in fact, not spam but very important e-mails coming from this site.

Chapter 4: Psychic Introductions

Anderson stepped into a large room made strangely silent by the application of thick layers of flame retardant material. Her boot steps were muffled. The door clanked shut behind her and she was left facing a sort of bleary eyed teen with deep rings of mascara below her eyes and smeared lipstick beneath a curly bob of unruly auburn hair. She squinted at Anderson, very pretty despite the after effects of sedatives. She was dressed in a bright orange jump suit that didn't complement her creamy complexion although it did nothing to diminish her curves.

"Boy, they didn't give you much protection," she rubbed one eye, further ruining her sleep smeared makeup. "Usually they come in looking like space men." A huge yawn made the last words awkward.

"I'm Judge Anderson," she introduced herself, feeling it was only fair.

"Juliet November. Pyrokinetic," the girl got to her feet. "That twerp Cal was on about something through the speakers up there. I didn't catch it all." Juliet stumbled a little and braced herself on the back of the chair. Anderson could already feel the air around them heating up. "Something about a test."

"I'm sorry you have to be involved in this," Anderson nodded as a small burst of flame came to life briefly nearby before puffing out in smoke. Dropping her walls Anderson could immediately tell the girl had no control, feeling the struggle of the young psychic to rein in her anger at an apology she felt was insincere and general bitterness for her situation.

Juliet's life had been one miserable event after another, her pyrokinetic talents running amok and raging until she'd been incarcerated at age twelve and alternately confined in solitude or drugged into bleary sleep for months at a time. Death hung around her in a smoke that choked off her sense of anything else.

Anderson's orders were to subdue the girl. There was no challenge in that, in a mind so wide open and though in turmoil, it broadcast every last thought. Juliet had no control and no psychic defenses. Anderson simply reached through the smoke and cinders feeding Juliet's consciousness and settled into the synapses. With the barest effort she subdued the girl's psychic power, wrapping up the agitated corner of soul in cool sheets of control. Juliet shivered and collapsed back onto her chair.

"Wh-what...what are you?" she looked at Anderson in bewildered confusion. _Make sure it never comes back..._was the unspoken wish.

"Telepath," Anderson replied. An avalanche of thoughts rushed first through Juliet and then careened through Anderson. Juliet was just a little girl, all of eighteen years and filled with too much bereavement and loss. Juliet had no reservations about sobbing in relief, burying her face in her hands.

"Can you remove this? Can you make it stop?" she choked. Anderson shook her head. She crossed the room with muffled steps before she knelt at the foot of Juliet's chair. Red eyed and streaked in make up the girl stared down at Anderson in desperate, wild hope for salvation.

"I might be able to show you how to control it," Anderson offered. Juliet was off the chair and on her knees clutching either of Anderson's hands.

"Please, _please_," she nodded.

"We'll do this together a few times and then you'll do it by yourself," Anderson nodded, shifting so she pressed both of Juliet's hands between hers. Very carefully she took control of Juliet's mind and created containment for the girl's abilities. She set the control and then had Juliet maintain it a few moments. The girl's powers seemed to gather strength like a pot with the lid too tight. Anderson moved to fix the hold and a jet of flame burst from somewhere close by and set Anderson's sleeve ablaze. Juliet screamed while Anderson rolled adeptly until it was snuffed.

"I'm-sorry-I'm-sorry-I'm-sorry-I'm-sorry!" Juliet shrilled, fleeing to a far corner of the room.

"It's fine," Anderson assured her, raising a hand to forestall more squawking. "We'll do it again, and differently this time. Come back over here."

It took an hour at least for them to find a method of containment that both worked and that Juliet could completely maintain on her own. Anderson poked and prodded in the girl's mind, checking the barrier gently, before she leaned back from where she was hunched in concentration on the uncomfortable floor. Juliet remained seated on her knees with her spine absolutely straight, concentrating so hard she was sweating.

"It'll take time for you to develop the strength to maintain and adjust it, and even longer for it to be something you do unconsciously," Anderson said. Juliet cracked an eye open, a pretty hazel color. "I'll talk with Judge Cal about allowing you access to a track at the very least. It'll help your psychic stamina even if you just do some basic strength training and running. The better care you take of your body, the more energy you'll have to control this," Anderson explained, almost wincing in memory of the nightmare training she'd endured.

"Really?" Juliet opened the other eye. Anderson nodded. "Nobody's ever showed me how to do anything...they just...its been a very long time since someone just talked to me..." Memories played across Juliet's thoughts and because Anderson wanted to watch the girl's psychic strength she was subject to remembered cruelties brought down on a frightened child needing guidance. Of course there was very little guidance to be had in Mega City One. Anderson was a walking example of that after only a month outside the city limits.

"I'm sorry," Anderson said and meant it. The corners of Juliet's mouth twitched in a grin.

"Who taught you?"

"A woman almost beat me to death with her telekinetic powers for about a month," Anderson smiled wryly and Juliet's grin came in full.

"So, are you going to be my teacher then?" the teen asked hopefully.

"I can't promise anything like that," Anderson shook her head, feeling the disappointment as Juliet despaired again of a shot at some stability. The door opened on the far end of the room. With her walls down Anderson didn't need to look back to recognize Slocum. She quickly blocked out any of his thoughts and let him approach, surprised that Juliet had a surge of affection for the SJS officer.

"Always full of surprises Judge Anderson," Slocum remarked as Juliet failed miserably at keeping a stupid smile off her face. "Judge Cal would like to speak with you." He removed a syringe from a small pouch at his side and held it up against the light. Juliet's expression faltered, fear flickering through her and making her walls weak.

_'Keep your walls strong at all times Juliet,'_ Anderson instructed sharply, startling the girl. Juliet hurried to reinforce them as she thought about the drugs and the dark cell to which she would be returned. As Anderson stood up the girl reached out and caught her hand, tugging.

_Don't leave me..._she begged silently. Anderson gave her hand a squeeze.

_'Neither of us have power here.'_

Slocum slid the syringe into Juliet's neck and filled her with the clear fluid. The young woman's eyes clung to Anderson until they rolled back into unconsciousness, tremors of fear and misery shaking the fingers clutching Anderson's glove. Slocum caught her as she went lax. Anderson strode out of the room, the phantom grip pressing against her palm like a sin.

Judge Cal was watching in the observation room. She found it by seeking his general signature and resisted the urge to press through his mind until she located Juliet's fate. Cal was flanked by Judge Percy and several other SJS members, crystal blue eyes watching Slocum and a few others binding up Juliet. Anderson forcibly subdued a visceral reaction.

"172 orphans burned alive when she lost control at age twelve. Before that there were her parents incinerated, and four more kids in her class. Nothing we've tried has worked. Not until you went in and forcibly took control of her mind to show her how to control it," Cal said softly, uncrossing his arms so he could place his hands on his hips. Slowly he turned to look at her and his fear and suspicion ran like a straight edge down her flesh, seeming to peel it back in search of something. "I will have you tagged with a chip to ensure your loyalty as soon as Goodman gives me clearance."

"I await the order, sir," Anderson answered, trying very hard to keep the acid out of her tone. She managed a brittle smile.

"As for November, I'll move her confinement to Tower Argos. We've used her once or twice and she has potential, especially if she can control it. _You_ are responsible for her."

"Sir," Anderson nodded. A measure of relief moved through her. Juliet was just a girl in need of direction. She shuddered to recall the tormented hours in solitude or drugged, the memories twisting through Juliet's mind caused by such wild talent. How many people were like her?

"Keep in touch," Cal rumbled. "Dismissed."

Anderson gave him a salute and left the room. She wanted sleep and to be left alone but paperwork glared at her from one end while her interpersonal relations couldn't be put on hold indefinitely. So she opted for the elevator and rose 140 floors to step out into her old unit.

Some of the Judges there nodded to her, a few offered greetings, but she was only interested in a small red braid dangling between the shoulders of a miniature Kevlar jacket. The helmet was placed in a forbidding scowl on the top of the computer monitor supervising the pattern of rapid fire typing and thoughtful pauses as Colt chewed on her lips. Anderson came to a halt behind the little Judge taking a sip of orange juice. She swung around with the plastic bottle to her lips with a challenging scowl slanting her eyebrows down.

Orange juice was spit all over the front of Anderson's Kevlar vest before the bottle dropped and more orange juice covered Anderson's boots. The blond psychic looked down at the mess and then back at her friend, quirking one eyebrow. Colt got up, boots squelching in the spilled liquid, and socked Anderson with a crippling right cross of greeting to the arm.

"Ow," Anderson complained, rubbing the affronted flesh.

"I almost threw your dictionary off the roof," Colt confessed.

"What did it ever do to you?"

"I thought it might summon you if the book was in danger."

"I missed you too," Anderson replied. Colt held up a finger and then dashed across the floor towards Matheson's office. In the mean time Anderson went to the janitor's closet and fetched a mop to get up the worst of the spill. There were cleaning bots but they ran on programs and wouldn't be in to handle this part of the 140th until a shift change. She was just finishing when Colt vaulted into her chair and fired off several commands on her computer before powering it down all at record speed.

"I'll finish later. We're getting out of here and you're telling me everything like you promised!" Colt commanded, stuffing the last of her burrito down her throat like she wouldn't get a chance to eat for another three days. Anderson refrained from wincing at the thought of her companion's reaction to the information there was to give.

"Can I bum a ride home?" Anderson asked as she carried the mop back towards the closet.

"Sure. Where's your bike?" Colt's steps were brisk, helmet swinging from one hand like a child's lunch pail.

"Dredd kept it. I left with a different group from the hostage situation in Sector 8."

"Welcome back to MC1," Colt slapped her back with sardonic cheer. "That giant corn row guy left a note saying you were back. Matheson said you might be by tonight too."

"I had to report in to Chief Judge Goodman and go through a debriefing first but I didn't want you heading for the Wall on a needless rescue mission."

"I had my rescue kit all put together," Colt nodded in absolute sincerity. Anderson gave her a wan smile. Colt seemed distressed by it. "So was Dredd a stiff the whole time?"

"He was Dredd," Anderson shrugged. Colt nodded sagely. "We were lucky to have him out there. Extremely lucky."

"That bad huh?"

"Made Peach Trees look like a breezy day in the gardens," Anderson nodded. Colt glanced up at her and seemed to resist the urge to touch her. "I never thought we would be lucky to have some of our other members but I was pleasantly surprised."

"How so?" Colt prompted. So Anderson launched into the relative safety of describing Radkov and 'Berg. They discussed the boys all the way down to the ground floor and into the massive parking deck where Colt hopped onto a comically large Lawmaster as compared to her slight build. Anderson hesitated. "Lets get you home and you can tell me about it," she patted the seat behind her, brow pinched in concern and compassion.

"Colt, Rosalyn..." Anderson started. Colt looked up at her expectantly. Anderson did a sweep with her mind and found no one close by. "The reason I was selected for the team...I'm a telepath. We're building a department of psychics and I went outside the Wall for training."

"You're a tele...?"

"I read minds – "

"I know what the word means," Colt held up a hand, her tone sharp. She turned away from Anderson and stared at the Lawmaster's computer, eyes unseeing. Without saying anything she gave the seat a pat. Anderson slid on behind her, wishing her friend would say something. Colt turned over the engine and pulled out of the garage.

The ride home was so very silent as emotions and thoughts swirled beneath Colt's skin like smoke caught in a crystal ball. Her usually exuberant friend was caught somewhere between rage, fear, understanding, relief, and a host of other feelings cut into too many facets to understand without actually delving into her thoughts. Much as Anderson wanted to it was Colt's right to sort through her feelings without an audience.

Colt pulled up at Parnassus Block, stopping along the sidewalk in a loading zone. Anderson got off and watched as Colt dug through her pockets. She extracted the house keys, face an alien mask of control she only ever used on the job. Anderson accepted them and tried very hard to keep from bursting into tears.

"I guess I'll...see you," she said carefully. Colt's eyes flicked to her and the muscles in her jaw worked. She put on her helmet and pulled away from the curb.

It was a long walk up to her apartment and an almost insurmountable difficulty keeping a straight face. Her training had practically stripped her of the ability to cry but she suddenly felt so very deserted, practically betrayed. The sins of her birth shouldn't have mattered she wanted to rage. She couldn't help what she was!

_I need to check in with Ecks_ she realized upon entering her apartment. She stripped out of her gear and down into her underwear, leaving it in a trail from the door to the phone on the kitchen counter. There was a video screen that went with it but she figured a voice check in would be more than enough, particularly since she was under dressed.

"Judge Ecks," he greeted from the other end.

"Sir, its Anderson," she informed him, pulling her fridge open in search of something to eat. She almost let tears slip free when she spotted the dish of lasagne with a note attached proclaiming she "need not cook her first night back, just reheat courtesy of Colt". "I wanted to let you know I finished with SJS. Judge Cal will be moving Juliet November into confinement in Tower Argos with instructions I am to train her."

"Pyrokinetic," Ecks murmured more to himself. "I apologize for the scene you walked into Judge Anderson. I did not anticipate SJS to be so...interested."

"I should have warned you," Anderson closed the refrigerator door. "When should I report in for duty?"

"Tomorrow morning," Ecks answered. "We'll meet at Tower Argos at 0800. Take today and tonight off."

"Thank you sir," Anderson nodded.

"I heard good things about you in the field. It seems you've won over even Radkov," Ecks was smiling, she was sure. "Well done."

"We all of us did our duty," Anderson replied. "See you tomorrow sir." She hung up after his farewell in return and then threw on a shirt and shorts and paced out onto the balcony in such a state of misery that even the usual dose of sunlight and breeze couldn't cheer her. All the same she leaned against the railing.

"Auntie Justice!" cheered one of the little boys next door. He climbed halfway up the separator between their balconies grinning with missing teeth and wild hair. "Auntie Justice you're back! We missed you!"

"How've you been Thomas?" Anderson gave him a smile. He hung from his armpits grinning like a cherubim.

"Good. I got a B on my math test! I'm king of additives!"

"Addition," Anderson corrected. Thomas just snickered at her. "How'd you get that scratch on your chin?" The small Korean boy allowed her to help him back down onto his side of the balcony wall.

"Skating," Thomas rubbed the scrape. He put his hands on his hips. "Where'd you go Auntie Jay?"

"I had work," Anderson shrugged. Thomas held up a finger and dashed back inside. He shouted something in Korean and in a few seconds he came back out with a small bowl of assorted nuts. He came up the little stool he used to peer over the wall between balconies and gave her the bowl. Afterward he hoisted himself up and over onto her side, landing on the little metal table she kept there specifically to keep the children from falling down and injuring themselves. More than once she'd come home to tea parties on her balcony hosted by the girls on the other side.

"We got these at one of the bazaars and I really wanted to share some with you," Thomas announced, taking the bowl back and making himself comfortable on some of the patio furniture. He pulled a metal nut cracker out of his back pocket and with surprising dexterity and strength he broke the shell of a walnut. He picked out the nut pieces and handed them to her as his mother, Mrs. Cho came out onto their balcony.

"Welcome back Judge," she gave Anderson a pleasant smile and nod. "Thomas missed you."

"Mom, _so_ not cool," Thomas shot her a scowl. Mrs. Cho only chuckled and offered a few tall glasses of synthetic lemonade.

"Thank you Mrs. Cho," Anderson smiled as she took them. She came back and joined Thomas at the small table where he was busy shelling assorted nuts for her.

"So did you save the whole city?" Thomas asked her, legs swinging with an assortment of colorful band aids striping them.

"I made a few lives better," Anderson replied.

"Alright Auntie Jay!" Thomas crowed, lifting his glass of lemonade. She toasted him and they drank together. Thomas fell to detailed accounts of misadventures on the playground after that and filled what would have been a depressed silence with cheerful noise. His presence was akin to light playing of the wings of a butterfly, full of flashes of passion and vibrant feeling. He jumped topics without ever tripping up on his speedy tongue, all the while shelling nuts and ensuring she had an assortment.

His mother finally came and helped him back over the wall so they could walk down and collect his brother from school. Thomas complained loudly, arguing he'd rather be with Auntie Jay while Mrs. Cho insisted Anderson might like some time to herself after a long time away. Anderson wasn't so certain once their house was empty and she was left quietly alone in her mind, a prisoner to her emotions.

She collected her street gear inside and put it away, the jumpsuit to be cleaned and the armor where she could get to it in the morning, and showered. Once she was clean she pulled up the computer in a niche to begin writing her reports, damp hair in need of a trim. She bound her overlong bangs back with a clip and was just getting ready to start when a familiar presence materialized outside her door.

Anderson wrenched it back by the third knock and looked down at Rosalyn Colt. Colt blinked twice in surprise, her eyes hardened, and the next thing she knew Anderson's vision was swimming with colors as she fell back onto the floor. Colt stepped over her as Anderson struggled to get herself back together. In another few seconds something cool touched the already swelling bruise. Peeling her eyes open she saw Colt glaring down at her and the bag of ice the red head was holding to her cheek.

"You suck at telepathy. It wasn't exactly a surprise attack seeing as I spent all morning coming up with this plan," Colt accused as she helped Anderson sit up. The psychic took the bag of ice and Colt stood up, closing the door.

"I didn't have any business inside your head, although I might reconsider," Anderson grumbled.

"You deserved it! That's not something you just keep from your friends!" Colt barked. She was damp with sweat in her athletic gear, stray curls fraying from her braid. She pulled Anderson's arm over her shoulder. "I _hate_ muties and you know it. Why didn't you ever punch me when I got on a tirade? I feel like a real dick for all the slurs and that pisses me off that you just let me be a dick. You're supposed to call your friends on that stuff," Colt carried on, hoisting Anderson up and practically dragging her to the couch. She put Anderson down and then bustled over into the kitchen. "I mean, I guess it explains why cold cases don't bother you at all and how you come up with evidence I wouldn't have dreamed of noticing you damn cheater. 'Course I wouldn't wanna go spelunking through some of those scum bags' thoughts. And here you were coping all on your own. Just 'cuase I'm short tempered doesn't mean I wouldn't have listened. One person can't sort through that stuff on their own!" Colt brandished a bottle of coke threateningly as she carried on.

"Or just short," Anderson grumbled back.

"Hey! You're lucky I didn't dislocate your floating ribs!"

"Because they're less of a challenge at eye level?"

"I _will_ move from even to overkill, so help me!"

The coke caps cracked open and Colt carried them over, passing one to Anderson and pulling the ice pack back to examine her handiwork. She flinched a little, clearly surprised by the goose egg growing on Anderson's face.

"So maybe I ignored even and went straight to overkill..." she admitted as her temper seemed to finally wind down. "I'm sorry...are you gonna be okay?"

"Please, after what I went through out there this is a scratch," Anderson rolled her eyes. Colt dropped down onto the couch next to her, rolling the bottle between her palms.

"Are you...will you tell me about it? I realize maybe its your turn to be mad but...but I didn't know what else to do!" Colt's face flushed, her eyes flicking to and from Anderson. "I was mad that you didn't think I was trustworthy enough to tell. I hate mutants as a principle but you're not a principle to me. You're a person. I know you."

"Maybe you should consider mutants people until proven otherwise," Anderson nudged gently, tempering the remark with a smile as Colt winced.

"Maybe..." she shrugged one shoulder like a child in trouble. "So...what happened? I mean, you look different. Harder. And you have man arms."

Anderson laughed, a sudden release of the anxiety before and behind her. She slouched back on her couch and raised her bottle of Coke. Colt toasted and they drank.

"I think I found the gateway to Hell while I was out there," Anderson sighed, feeling muscles relax in her chest. "And the demons that manage it...I think we'll see them here one day."

"Yeah?" Colt frowned. "Like mutants or...?"

"Fire and brimstone kind of demons," Anderson shook her head, sitting back up. "I mean they were human once but...there's nothing human about them now."

"You had to feel their minds?" Colt shuddered. Anderson was surprised by the degree of empathizing as Colt genuinely tried to imagine that. "I have some pretty horrible thoughts. I can't imagine what something like _that_ would think about."

"Nothing nice," Anderson assured her with a wry smile. Colt shook her head.

"Is it something you want to talk about? I mean, I still haven't said much about what happened to me as a Cadet. Matheson's after me about talking, says it'll help. He's such a busy body."

"It's going to sound strange, the whole thing."

"Mind reading sounds strange but go ahead," Colt shrugged. Anderson's mouth twitched in a smile.

"Okay, fine. Do you want me to start with Murugans, warlords, a river witch, or the demons?"

"How's about the beginning? It might be less confusing for a layman."


	5. The Chinaman

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any Dredd characters, places, etc.

**A/N: **I'm _so_ sorry for the delay in this. I had it all written and as I was proofing it I realized that it was a scant chapter at best. So I had to beef it up from perfunctory. I would have been ashamed to face Dredd otherwise. He is much more satisfied now, so I hope you will be to! As always, thank you many times for your wonderful reviews and again I am _so_ sorry! - Repentant Giraffe

Chapter 5: The Chinaman

"So this is about Simionis, the rat," Bruno Vikenti asked as he peered at Dredd from behind his spectacles. "Espironza must have sent you," a smile curled up one side of his face and his eyes glittered. The other men at the table seemed uncomfortable. They glanced at Vikenti as if waiting for a sign. The rest of the club didn't seem to have noticed this back corner with its sumptuous curtains unveiling a Judge and his Lawgiver. All the same the hair on the back of Dredd's neck prickled.

"Who shot him?" Dredd demanded.

"Now why would I know such a thing?" Vikenti prompted. His fingers slid together, delicate as lace, before he rested his chin on them.

"Interrogations can repeat the question," Dredd threatened darkly. Vikenti only chuckled, a strangely high noise. Dredd saw a woman's eyes widen at the table.

A crowbar whistled through the air just where Dredd's helmet had been seconds before. There was a fractional second of perfect silence as one bass heavy song ended and Dredd was still half pivoting. The millisecond his elbow connected in his assailant's sternum there were four gunshots followed by the feel of two impacting against his Kevlar and one dragging a white hot line of fire just above his elbow.

"Stun," he snarled, losing no time planting a boot on the winded body that had attacked him now sprawled on the floor. In a rapid succession as three more shots got stuck in his Kevlar he dropped four of the men struggling up from behind the game table as screams erupted around him. He pulled a small canister of riot gas from a pouch at one side and released it without ado as an elvish figure slid past him and a knife edge glinted red in the sinful lighting.

Dredd was holding his breath as gas hissed into the air and coughs overtook the panicked screams and clatter of thick soled heels. In a movement more instinct than conscious recognition of danger he removed his boot from his original attacker and sprang back from the angry red arc of a knife that would have found a receptive home just below his Kevlar vest. He made a grab for the slender wrist holding the knife but it had vanished back inside a swirl of noxious fumes.

Snapping his teeth around the respirator Dredd moved into the mist after Vikenti, keen on preventing the man's escape. He fired a stun shot at the recovering man on the ground who had started the whole fiasco for good measure before the mists completely separated them.

People were hacking and choking everywhere, women in various states of undress dragging themselves towards tables or huddling miserably together as there seemed to be a loud commotion towards the elevators. Dredd dropped a few men who fired wide at him, his senses alert for Vikenti.

Hunting through the fog he spotted what looked a door and shouldered through it. He wound up in a brightly lit changing room filled with panicked dancers, again in varying states of undress. He scoured the mostly clear air for Vikenti and caught one girl's arm. When he turned her around she couldn't have been more than fifteen, still girlish despite her evident beauty. Pulling his respirator free to ask what she knew she pulled on the shoulder of his Kevlar and stood up on her tip toes.

"He took Emily through to the fire escape," she whispered, as if terrified Vikenti might still be able to hear her treachery. She pointed down a long row of lit mirrors and racks of clothing. "Just because he doesn't have a gun Judge...he's very good with a knife."

"Stay here for sentencing," Dredd instructed as she released his shoulder. Her big eyes got huge and filled with tears. He didn't have time for an argument but she sat down on a chair, drawing her knees up to hide her naked torso. Dredd left her there and bolted with long strides down the sumptuously carpeted changing room.

He came upon the unmarked door and kicked it in. No one jumped from beside the frame to attack him so he moved up the stairs in the only direction he could go. The further he climbed the more careful he became.

"You'll let me go boy!" Vikenti's voice came from up above, echoing in the stairwell. Dredd came to an abrupt halt lest his boots give him away. A woman was crying and Vikenti snarled something in his native tongue.

"Let her go," came a familiar voice Dredd struggled to place.

"There will be no throat left if you stop me!" Vikenti replied savagely.

"Murder is punishable by death. Kill her and you don't have any negotiating power," replied a young man's voice. Dredd moved silently up the stairs, no small feat considering the tread of his boots and the echoing nature of the cinder block stairwell.

"Go ahead and shoot boy! Her blood is on you either way," Vikenti replied with a high laugh. It wasn't fear, or even madness that marked the pitch, rather it was cruelty.

Dredd heard the shot just as he turned the corner. Two bodies crashed to the ground, blood spraying a delicate arc across the hallway, and one body convulsed. Dredd placed the young Judge as Gibbs' companion of the Sector 8 riots, young Judge Jack. Jack stepped forward and pressed his hand down over the woman's throat as the voltage of a stun shot finally finished making Vikenti twitch.

"Medic to Stairwell 2," Jack instructed, his grip tight as the now pale face stripper clutched at his glove with desperate fear in her bloodless face. "Hang on miss, help is coming," Jack assured her.

"You took the shot," Dredd remarked as he rolled a moaning Vikenti over and cuffed him. He planted a merciless boot between the pimp's shoulders for good measure.

"She was dead if I didn't," Jack replied with a soft note in his voice. Dredd saw no flaw in the young Judge's actions as he turned to subdue possible escapees by simply aiming down his firing arm. The men with watery eyes still coughing looked up at him with defeat in their faces.

Half a minute later a Medic came heading a tide of auxiliaries. He took over the pale stripper's treatment as the auxiliaries flooded forward and began cuffing the few men who had sat down to await their fate. Dredd hauled Vikenti up and led the stumbling man out into the lobby where the pink dressed, drug addicted secretary had been sitting upon Dredd's arrival. He sat the pimp down in the chair she had previously occupied as a steady stream of men and women were hauled up in batches. Cuffing Vikenti's cuffs to the seat Dredd looked over at Jack.

"He doesn't move," he instructed. "I'll be back for him."

"Sir," Jack nodded, adopting a parade rest with his bloodied gloves tucked behind him. Dredd made his way back to the stairwell and descended past auxiliaries and their cuffed captives. Tromping all the way back down to the dressing room he found an auxiliary trying to pry the under-aged stripper from one of the dressing tables.

"That'll be enough," Dredd instructed. She was released immediately whereupon she swiftly resumed her perch on the stool, this time in a silken dressing robe as she hugged her knees and peered up at Dredd. He stared down at her and she watched him from behind her kneecaps. He hesitated a long moment staring at her.

"Will Emily be okay?" she asked very softly.

"She's with the medics," Dredd replied. The girl looked down at the floor thoughtfully. Carefully she reached over and pointed at a stool, inviting him to sit. Dredd slowly levered down onto it, settled on the edge, uncomfortable with the entirety of the situation.

"What's my sentence?" she asked softly when he seemed at a loss for words.

"Three months in juvie," he replied automatically, without a need for consideration. "How old are you?"

"Fourteen," she whispered. It rippled across his mind and made revulsion curl his guts.

"Why this?" he gestured irritably at their surroundings.

"Because I didn't need any skills," she looked down. "And I needed the money."

Dredd made an irritable growl in the back of his throat. "You'll be appointed a foster family after that," he rumbled at her. She nodded as grimly as if he were issuing her banishment. "Do you know an Isidro Simionis?"

"Ask Monica...she loved him too much. Monica with the Blue Jay tattoo, because she won't give you a name," she indicated a spot on her shoulder blade.

"Your name?" Dredd asked.

"Linda," she offered him a timid smile. "Linda Summers."

"Its the straight and narrow Linda Summers," Dredd instructed ominously. "Follow this path and I will find you," he promised. Linda gave him a nod grimly. She uncurled her arms from their lock over her knees and offered them. He motioned for her to get up and marched her ahead of him, into a throng of cuffed prostitutes and johns led by auxiliaries. She kept ahead of him with nervous glances thrown over her shoulders, as if awaiting some rough treatment. Instead he marched her out civilly to a pat wagon filled with other prostitutes. He turned to go in search of this Monica when Linda lurched forward and hung out of the back of the wagon.

"You!" She called to him. Dredd looked back at her. "You are?"

"Dredd," he answered.

"You, Dredd, would come for me if I lose my way? You will put me back on a right way?"

"My job is to uphold the Law," Dredd answered. She gave him a broken sort of smile, one shot through with fractured light in her eyes.

"But you would find me," she reiterated.

"Break the law and I _will_ find you," he nodded. Her grin was far too pleased he thought but somehow it didn't sit ill with him. Instead she sat down and offered her hands almost cheerfully to the auxiliary securing her to her seat in the large pat-wagon. Dredd somehow felt that didn't ring as ominously as it should but there was neither the time nor the interest to explain this to young Linda. Instead he went to the Judge assigned to Pat-Wagon duty that had responded to his call. "Find the girl Monica with a blue bird tattoo on her shoulder. Keep her for questioning," Dredd instructed.

"Sir," the Judge nodded. He went back into the building then to deal with Vikenti.

Vikenti was still cuffed to the desk and seemed to have shaken off Jack's stun shot. He looked irritated but not irate. Dredd listened to one of the girls screaming as she was dragged out, hissing in Spanish and struggling. Vikenti watched her go with an expression of disgust at the display.

"Ah well," Vikenti sighed when he saw Dredd stalking through the crowds. He was entirely too calm.

"A guy like you usually knows what's going on in his turf," Dredd informed Vikenti. A smile spread over the elf-like man's face, showing off each pearly white tooth. His eyes glimmered.

"What's in it for me?"

"A choice. Interrogation first or going straight into the iso-cubes," Dredd answered simply. Vikenti chuckled. The chains on his handcuffs clinked softly as he settled back more comfortably. He was fine boned and while his eyes were hard he looked more like a man used to other people doing the heavy lifting for him. Still, Dredd had seen him in action with a knife and his willingness to shed blood to get his way.

"Perhaps we'll start with a name before I make my decision," Vikenti suggested.

"Rourke Kenney or David Brigg."

Vikenti pursed his lips as he thought. After a moment he shrugged, making the handcuffs jingle.

"Do you have a picture?"

Dredd pulled up the image of David Brigg from fourteen years ago, clean cut and young from his days in the Academy. Intelligent green eyes were set into a round face with dimples and a smile, the expression laid back and jovial. He moved his arm so Vikenti could see the image on his glove computer and the pimp observed it.

"Haven't seen him but..." Vikenti whistled like a bird and a tweaked out man with hair going every which way jerked around as some auxiliaries marched him by. "Ah, Georgio," Vikenti smiled. Georgio squirmed, all bones and ribs in his rumpled and stained button down and raggedy jeans. Dredd nodded for the auxiliaries to bring him closer, recognizing him as the man that had swung at him from behind. "Georgio, you would be doing me a favor if you recognize this face." Dredd showed him the picture.

"Yeah," Georgio nodded jerkily with a heavy accent. "Yeah boss, I knows him. Owning a building he does."

"He rents," Dredd corrected. Georgio snorted and looked up.

"Georgio," Vikenti cautioned.

"Kenney he says. R. Kenney always buying the extra rations of electricity for generators in his building. I see him asking the big buildings with solar because his little place sits like rat in shadows. Goes two blocks down to that Chinaman."

"Thank you Georgio," Vikenti nodded. Georgio muttered something in a different language and got himself cuffed. One of the auxiliaries growled back in the same language and Vikenti laughed as Georgio was hauled away roughly. "So then, I can tell you about the Chinaman if you like, but not for free Judge."

Dredd tilted his head just slightly in surprise that Vikenti would assume he had some position of bargaining power. When he returned to his sector house he would have to pull up the details of Vikenti's previous arrests. He however was in no mood to bargain with a man who sold women for his own profit.

"Shall we load him up?" asked Jack still keeping guard. Vikenti smiled slyly.

"Take Vikenti directly to interrogation and find out what you can about a 'Chinaman'. In the mean time I'm taking two auxiliaries to help canvas the area," Dredd replied. Vikenti blinked, his smile frozen in disbelief.

"Sir," Jack nodded. Deftly he freed Vikenti from the table and then hauled him out. Vikenti stared back at Dredd, twisting around as he stumbled forward, still in shock. Dredd thought idly this was a moment when he could have used Anderson.

Dredd returned to the entrance of the building, considering which direction he would begin looking for this "Chinaman". He resolved to twist Georgio's arm. Vikenti would take work to crack and was better left to men who enjoyed the art of interrogation. He was making for the enormous pat-wagon when there was an explosion several blocks away. It was forceful enough to rattle panes of glass in windows above and set off car alarms. As one the crowd gathered to watch the arrests ducked and slunk away, as if the next explosion might come from the pat-wagon itself.

"Jack, I'm taking your bike!" Dredd called back as he swung on. A terrible knot formed in his gut.

"I'll call the fire service!" Jack replied. Dredd nodded as the tires squealed against the pavement. He took off back down the pitted alleys little Jason Todd had led him through less than an hour before. On a Lawmaster it took barely five minutes to bolt back to the small apartment building owned by Rourke Kenny.

Or whatever was left.

A smoldering heap of ruble was all that remained, smoke choking the humid alleys and gaping holes left in the surrounding buildings. People were screaming and running in panic, moving away from the explosion. Some staggered out of their neighboring buildings in stupefied shock. Dredd moved towards the wreckage, passing charred meaty bits that had once been human – or pieces of them. His insides churned with anger. What had happened? Who had...

He saw the girl with the straight standing pig tails sprawled across the ground. He threw the kickstand into place and dismounted, kneeling beside her and the two other twisted forms he recognized as Jason Todd's friends. Half her face was charred and a good portion of her back but her tiny chest rose and fell as she lay on her stomach. Dredd touched her little forehead, pushing bangs back out of her eyes. The lashes peeled back and she found him after a dazed search.

"Y-you..." she wheezed. Struggling to lift one arm she managed to curl her little fingers over one of his. "Jason...wanted to see...why...this building...said don't..."

"I need emergency medical assistance stat," Dredd growled into his glove comm. He didn't bother listening to the acknowledging reply from the other end.

"H-hate," the girl gurgled. Her little fingers squeezed his, summoning all her might. "Hate you..." Her disfigured face twisted with loathing and all Dredd could do was stare down into her little eyes as the light faded from them. As the strength left her hand he set it gently down on the pavement. Anger moved through him like an ink stain in fabric, bleeding through him until he was saturated in the dark emotion.

"Judge Jack, pull Bruno Vikenti out of that pat-wagon," he snarled via the glove comm.

"He'll be waiting for you," Jack replied. Sirens were sounding distantly. It took almost no time to work back through the alleys to the fifty story building where Konstantin's had been. Jack was leaning against the pat-wagon with a boot on Vikenti's cuffs. The elf features of the man were smug as Dredd pulled up to an abrupt stop. He swung off the bike, snapped the kick stand into place, and stalked towards the pimp. Without preamble he slugged Vikenti hard across the jaw. His glasses fell off as blood and teeth sprayed the curb. Vikenti gagged as Dredd took a fist full of shirt, catching him with another two good blows.

"Where's the Chinaman?" Dredd growled. Vikenti shook his head to try and regain his faculties. He squinted up at Dredd and drew his lips back in a snarl. Dredd hauled him the rest of the way up and landed a knee in his gut.

"Okay okay wait!" Vikenti sputtered. His hands clutched at Dredd's wrists as he struggled to get his feet under him. "The Chinaman runs an energy racket out of the Hearken Building. His office is 1115."

"Have Interrogation pull every last scrap of intel out of him," Dredd rumbled at the auxiliary who had driven the Pat-wagon. "Judge Jack, with me."

Jack didn't ask for his bike back. Instead he took one of the auxiliaries'. He followed Dredd to the building identified on the Lawmaster's GPS as the Hearken. It soared up a hundred floors, painted clean white with flora spilling over countless balconies in an array of colors that would have been stunning under different circumstances. Solar panels glittered along the sides and probably again along the top.

Office 1115 was on the eleventh floor, water features splashing joyfully through the lobby. They were composed of natural scenes, miniature mountains dotted with pagodas and cranes, bonzai trees writhing artfully out of them in tiny hardwoods and pines, and comparatively Goliath fish swam lazily beneath the rippling water's surface. The interior structure of this floor wasn't made in sharp lines but rounded or oblong corridors with vast expanses of window vistas, the offices so filled with green it was more like looking inside some creature's den.

Judge Jack was on Dredd's heels and didn't say a word. That suited Dredd fine as he had no energy to spare on unnecessary conversation. He pulled back a frosted glass door to the office marked 1115 to expose an office dotted in orchids and the doors to a balcony thrown open. A heavyset man in a suit was standing staring over the city thoughtfully.

"I need whatever information you have on Rourke Kenny," Dredd informed the back of the man's head. The Chinaman turned and strangely he was not Asian at all. He had peppery gray hair and big gray eyes. He pursed his lips and seemed to consider his options.

"Rourke Kenny?" he asked after a moment, titling his head. His voice was robust, filled with energy like an old politician. "Nice name but I haven't any connections." He came back to a plush chair and seated himself, gesturing at the other chairs. Dredd suppressed a snarl, pushing the images of charred children dying on the pavement back out of his mind.

"Are you the man they call the Chinaman?" Judge Jack asked, stepping further out of Dredd's shadow.

"Do I look Chinese?" the man laughed. Jack tapped a few things into his glove display and tilted his helmeted head to one side.

"Looks like you deal quite a bit in Asian women though," he twisted his arm to show the surveillance footage taken of this man herding out hungry girls manacled to each other for show at a seedy establishment somewhere. The Chinaman's face suddenly went pale as Dredd felt disgust dilute some of his anger. "Facial recognition and the undercover units are amazing. So then Stanley Fergus, please answer Judge Dredd's question."

Dredd simply brought up the photograph of David Brigg that Georgio had identified as Rourke Kenny. Rather than go through any more games confusing names and faces he simply offered it for inspection. The Chinaman, Stnaley, glanced at the offered image before going from white to gray. His thick fingers laced together and he looked down at the desk.

"That's Rourke Kenny," he confirmed. "Comes to me for extra energy. I just skim a little energy off the top. We produce so much that fractions of fractions don't hardly add up to anything. Just a little extra."

"Skin market taking a nose dive?" Dredd's tone dripped with vitriolic sarcasm. Stanley winced. "Where do I find Rourke Kenny?"

"He owns an apartment building..."

"But he doesn't live there," Dredd shook his head. Stanley stared at him, adam's apple working nervously. His eyes were huge and blank as he frantically seemed to search his mind for something to say.

"Interrogation sir?" Jack asked, coming around the desk and clapping a hand on the back of Stanley's chair. As no more color could drain from Stanley's face, the Chinaman's skin took on a sudden flush of animation. He stood up and pressed his hands down on the table.

"He owes me money," Stanley looked up at Dredd from an angle that almost resembled a bow. "A _lot_ of money."

"Not such a small scam with the energy company then," Dredd remarked flatly. Stanley flinched the barest bit but his eyes found Dredd again.

"It hasn't been a problem until recently so it wasn't important to know much about him. But I hired someone to track him down. I was waiting on his call," Stanley opened a drawer. Jack had his Lawgiver trained on the man at the first sign of motion, as did Dredd. Very slowly Stanley finished this and extracted a slip of paper with a phone number on it. Scrawled across the top was M. Normal.

"Call him," Dredd instructed.

Stanley sat back down as his fingers trembled the barest amount dialing. There was a tense silence before Stanley sat up straighter.

"Mr. Normal," Stanley greeted. "Its Stanley Fergus. How's the hunt for Mr. Kenny going?" The voice on the other end was just loud enough to make out a surprisingly pleasant and cheerful alto though the words weren't quite discernible. Stanley nodded unconsciously, eyes wide with the intense blindness of one searching for salvation.

"Yes, yes. Of course. I'll be there promptly at eight tonight," Stanley nodded at last. "Goodbye then." He hung up and looked slowly up at Dredd. "Eight p.m. at a place called the Blue Swallow, at the top floor of the Sun Dial. That's usually where we meet."

"Well Jack, what's your sentence?" Dredd prompted.

"Iso-Cubes, ten years for theft of public energy, another twenty for trafficking, and fines of 250,000 credits with additional fines pending as reparations to the women stolen once they've been located. And they will be located," Jack replied without hesitation, the last sentence aimed at Stanley.

"See to it," Dredd nodded.

"What? Mercy! I've helped you! Confessed my crimes!" Stanley Fergus plead.

"Mercy?" Dredd's head tilted. "Do you know what Rourke Kenny did with all that extra power? He rigged his apartment building to blow. The law is merciful in treating your crimes separate from his." His voice was low, guttural, dark with an anger upon which he couldn't act. It was iron will that fettered the urge to give this man what he deserved for throwing in with scum like Rourke Kenny and selling women. Jack cuffed Stanley and walked him out of the office as Stnaley's coworkers craned their heads around outside the room curiously. They watched Stanley being walked out by Jack but shrank away from the seething shadow Dredd cast behind them.

At eight o'clock he'd have his answer then.


	6. Psi-Division

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the Dredd characters, places, etc.

Chapter 6: Psi-Division

Things were getting bad. Anderson had been pulled into a riot squad on her way to Tower Argos for a good four hours. More trouble from these Neon Knights. They seemed to be a grass roots organization when she crawled through their minds, not so much orchestrated as fired up and unleashed. Sadly, their leaders seemed to keep their identities concealed. In fact most members didn't seem to know each other without their hoods.

Puzzling this over as she finally parked her bike, Anderson's boots clicked over the polished floor of the lobby. She recognized the desk Tek, gave him a nod, and pressed her key card against the elevator in the lobby. Three levels below the ground floor she was able to pick out 'Berg and Radkov, their signatures strong to her after their recent adventures outside the Wall.

Al-Sayid wasn't present as the doors opened and released her but the rest of her crew was gathered around one of the computer monitors regarding a live news report about yet more rioting to the south. Anderson moved towards the crowd and peered over some shoulders. Radkov glanced back at her, clean cut and recently shaved, before shifting so she might have a better view.

"Wex Corps has offered to recall its models in an effort to prevent further harm coming to the owners but the citizens insist this is both an infringement on their rights and a display of incompetency from the Hall of Justice," a woman's voice was saying in a neutral tone as shots focused on a blown out penthouse level in a block. The _entire_ level was burning with blown out windows. "Spokeswoman Eliza Del Monte will be appearing tomorrow to make another appeal for robot rights, this time with her own Robo-servant George. She says she won't be intimidated by the death threats and trusts the Judges to protect she and her robot and to quell the unrest in the city."

"Is she out of her mind?" Voll asked, aghast. Rosenberg flipped the screen off and shook his head. His eye caught Anderson's.

"Judge Anderson," he nodded. Voll whipped around with an eager smile on his face, bright and earnest like a puppy.

"Welcome back Judge!" he seemed to cheer. "We were starting to get worried about you gone so long interviewing with SJS."

"What happened to your face?" Radkov demanded.

"Should have worn my helmet," was all Anderson answered as she touched the huge shiner from Colt along her jaw. It was swollen and ugly but there was no help for it.

"Is it true we're getting an SJS officer attached to our division?" Olvrisson cut Voll off. The other engine Tek looked expectantly at Anderson, like a faithful retriever told to "stay".

"Yes," she nodded simply. "And there should be another young lady sent over to our division today as well."

"Already here. What _exactly _is her flavor of psychic?" Radkov asked, his arms crossed and something of a scowl on his face. It wasn't hostile really, almost more thoughtful.

"Pyrokinetic," Anderson replied. "I don't want anyone to panic but she hasn't exactly gotten it under control. I'll be teaching her to use it but in the mean time you need to be very careful around her," she looked around the room at the four Teks standing there. "Where are Ognibene, Judge Ecks, and Al-Sayid?" she inquired.

"Judge Ecks hasn't come in yet," Voll offered helpfully.

"Ognibene is working on some side projects for Judge Dredd right now," Rosenberg supplied as Anderson's eyebrows rose. "Needed to figure out who bugged a phone line and it got bigger and more complicated."

"Al's still crunching numbers from your sensor disk," Radkov finished. "He was helping me with a room we were ordered to prepare before that. We've been at it while you were eating bon-bons with SJS."

"Radkov," Voll said halfway between annoyed and placating, shifting as Radkov walked away. Anderson flashed him a smile and shrugged. In truth she felt no barb in the statement where only a little over a month ago it would have dripped with animosity. Radkov pulled back one of the doors and held it for her as they proceeded down a corridor she had yet to explore.

"SJS brought her over about half an hour before you got here," Radkov informed her. "My instructions last night were to convert a room into a flame retardant dorm so that's what I did. How 'not under control' are we talking?"

"She's got 178 accidental deaths on her eighteen year old conscience," Anderson replied softly. Radkov stopped and turned to look at her. His blue eyes were critical, lips pressed into a thin line. "I'm teaching her how to contain and channel it."

"How was she not executed?"

"Someone must have found her useful," Anderson replied with grim sincerity. Radkov didn't say anything else as he resumed their march down the hall. He stopped finally at a door without a window.

"Eighteen?" he asked without looking at her. Anderson nodded. He pressed his ID badge against a sensor pad and the door chimed once on the other side before whooshing open.

Juliet looked a little bleary, still shaking off the worst of her sedatives. She was rubbing her face, drool stains down one cheek, her make up smeared. Anderson gave her a smile as the girl struggled to focus on her.

"Jundge 'Nders'n?" she slurred and an excited pop of fire flared nearby. Radkov, EOD expert, did little more than glance at the brief explosion with pursed lips.

"Mind your control," Anderson told her, gently applying the walls as Juliet tried to shake off the rest of her drug induced stupor.

"S'glad," Juliet moved to stand up. Anderson barely had a chance to catch her and set her back on the metal bed frame with the scratchy flame retardant sheets. The whole room was a dreary, muffled, charcoal color after the fire retardant treatment. In the mean time Radkov was looking around at his handiwork with utter dissatisfaction. "Yer my teacher?"

"Is that acceptable?" Anderson took the water bottle from the metal bedside table and cracked it open before handing it over.

"Oh yes," Juliet giggled, her psychic powers creeping along the careful control Anderson held in place for her. The sensation was warm and ticklish, like a playful breeze as Juliet's admiration and relief washed across Anderson's mind. "Oh yes very." Juliet took a drink and it seemed to clear the fog out of her head. "When's our first lesson?"

"After the drugs wear off. Why don't you wash up and we'll get you something to eat?" Anderson suggested.

"What kind of chow is there?" Juliet asked.

"I'm not sure. Let me see what we've got."

"I'm trying to watch my weight. I don't do a lot and I'm starting to pudge," Juliet pinched one of her sides. Anderson raised her eyebrows while Radkov rolled his eyes.

"It'll be healthy enough but you're going to need the calories. I promise you that," Anderson replied. Juliet looked at her with absolute delight as visions of attaining a slender, powerful physique filled her mind. Anderson pressed her lips into a thin line trying to resist the urge to smile at such unadulterated joy, failing as the corners of her mouth turned up just a little. It didn't consciously occur to Juliet how very badly she craved attention, manifesting instead in excitement at the prospect of training with a promising teacher.

"Get cleaned up while I report in to my Division Chief," Anderson instructed. Juliet leaped to her feet and her legs gave out, not yet totally free of the influence of her sedatives. Anderson caught the girl and couldn't smother the chuckle at her eagerness as a hot blush shot through Juliet, her eyes flicking to Radkov. "Juliet, watch your walls," Anderson warned her as her pyrokinesis sought an outlet during Juliet's distraction. Immediately the girl clamped down on it.

Very slowly she got to her feet. She took a few deep breaths and then walked carefully towards the bathroom where she closed the door with a soft click. Radkov was standing with his arms crossed as he considered the entire scenario before motioning her ahead of him into the hallway. When Juliet's door was firmly closed and they were several paces away the EOD expert glanced back over his shoulder.

"She's just a kid," he remarked. His tone carried wonder and she could tell he was in the middle of warring with his thoughts by the activity sliding around in his conscience. His thoughts remained his but she could feel them slide over her defenses the way all thoughts did. Anderson only shrugged as they made their way back into the main area.

Judge Ecks had joined the room and was standing with Slocum. Anderson had been too preoccupied thinking about Juliet to notice Slocum's presence until they were through the door. The resulting suddenness of his proximity made her muscles clench. His back was to their door and Radkov caught the door before it clacked shut noisily. When Anderson looked to her comrade he had his eyes on the meeting but there was a shift in his signature, his eyes more alert than they had been since returning to MC1.

"I apologize for my tardiness but there was a significant amount of paperwork for the transfer," Ecks was saying as she and Radkov made their approach. "We'll have proper introductions with Ms. November at a later time, and believe me, you'll all be put to your paces in her training and education. As soon as Judge Anderson and Radkov rejoin us I'll begin the briefing."

Anderson felt Al-Sayid coming down the elevator, now that her senses were on full alert. She slid into his familiar mind and felt it whirring away crunching data, extrapolating the implications of her exponential growth and improvement.

_'Boo,'_ she whispered and felt him jolt. She almost felt bad until he met her with a wave of relief. _'Judge Slocum has been assigned as our SJS liaison,'_ she replied as he worked to put words into his question. Immediate distaste permeated his thoughts, not at Slocum in particular but to the entire SJS division. His thoughts were bristled with suspicion.

"You could have said she was eighteen," Radkov said as he strode past Anderson and pulled back a chair. He swung into it and stretched his legs out, looking up at his superior officers. "I'd have painted the coating in her rooms pink."

"She's more of a purple person," Slocum answered, turning around now to face Anderson. His green eyes appraised her quickly and he gave her a slight nod. Anderson offered him a small smile.

"Purple, pink, whatever," Radkov shrugged. "Do we have new orders?"

"Eager for work are we?" Ecks shot him a penetrating look.

"I could be doing so much more with my time right now," Radkov answered. "Anderson, park it or we can't start." He motioned at Voll to pull a chair over for her. Anderson stepped very carefully past Slocum, making every effort to avoid touching him without appearing to. Voll went to roll the chair towards her but Radkov stopped it with a boot, effectively putting her seat between he and Voll without space for another.

"Make yourself comfortable I suppose Judge Slocum," Ecks sighed, looking at his Teks like they were unruly children. Radkov crossed his arms and sat with an expression of ill concealed impatience. In truth his eyes were sharp and studious.

"Judge Slcoum," Rosenberg suggested, wheeling another chair around at the opposite end of the gathering. The elevator opened and released Al-Sayid and Ogniebene.

"Judge Anderson! How well you look!" Ognibene called when he came into view. Anderson couldn't help the smile that slashed across her face to mirror his, all of him radiant with good cheer and genuine happiness at her success and return. "When there's a moment to spare you will have to tell me about your adventures. I have gotten pieces from Radkov and 'Berg but I should like to hear your thoughts. Much happened in the unseen I think," he tapped the side of his head, his teeth and the whites of his eyes gleaming in the florescent light.

"If you're buying the coffee and donuts to see us through the hours it would take," Anderson replied and Ognibene laughed.

"Watch out our you'll 'pudge'," Radkov advised.

"Radkov!" Voll snapped, aghast at such talk. Olvrisson rolled his eyes and pulled his counterpart down into a chair.

"Judge Slocum," Al-Sayid greeted the SJS officer coolly as he passed by. _Slocum seems high placed for this job as a liaison._

_'We go back,'_ Anderson replied.

_That would be unfortunate,_ Al-Sayid remarked, conjuring the sensation of invisible eyes on him. Anderson allowed her amusement to permeate through him which made him cock his head to one side as he settled down on Olvrisson's other side, two chairs away from her.

_'You find unseen eyes unsettling but not my thoughts in yours?' _she prompted and felt his flash of amusement.

"Allow me to introduce Judge Slocum properly," Ecks said now that his band of Teks and his one Psychic were in order. "He's SJS' number two man and aide to Deputy Cheif Judge Cal, head of SJS. For the time being he is our liaison, just while our department is establishing itself. This is for our protection as much as anything. There will be significant backlash among the citizens over a unit of psychics operating within Mega City One, and there will most certainly be backlash from other Judges. Judge Slocum is here to ensure that policies are followed and everything done accordingly lest we make ourselves unnecessarily vulnerable to criticism. I don't need to tell you how thin a line we're walking."

A murmur of consent went around the room at the last statement. Anderson noted Radkov remained silent next to her. Slocum in turn studied the room, his features set in a familiar display of evaluation. He was assessing relationships amongst her crew, seeing with whom and how each man communicated, mapping allies and enemies with what she knew was insightful precision.

"So I will stress the import of detailed reports and urge you to leave _no_ detail out. Also make sure you _do not_ antagonize your fellows. I realize that our unveiling will create hostility so it is important that you mind yourselves when interacting with other departments. There is always rivalry between different units but do not partake in any of that. We are to carry ourselves with absolute poise, composure, and exact execution of our duties with minimal mess. Am I clear?"

Judge Ecks was transformed from cool and generally amiable leader into a man of much sterner material. His presence was felt by each man there, surprising some of them. Anderson had seen it before during Cal's tirade in Chief Judge Goodman's office. She nodded as others answered "yes sir!" aloud.

"Now that's out of the way, I would like to bring your attention to our first official assignment. Originally the plan was to compose a team of psychics but due to the riots our department has been called into more active service. You'll all be reporting to the fronts to support Judges in action. I have your individual orders uploaded into your profiles."

"What about the girl?" Radkov nodded in the direction of Juliet's chambers.

"She'll have a regular training schedule set up after the riots are soothed," Ecks answered. "Al-Sayid and Radkov, you're in charge of looking after her in the interim. Before you all are sent on your way was there anything our Cursed Earth team wanted to report in brief? I'm expecting a more thorough debriefing when things settle again but are there any highlights the rest of the team should know?"

"We've developed some experimental technology for combating psychics," Rosenberg stood up. "EMP bullets and mines. It needs fine tuning still but the goal is to make it standard munitions for our department at the very least." He sat back down. Attention shifted expectantly to Radkov for whatever reason. He looked back at the gazes with raised eyebrows. Then, with a very deliberate movement, he got to his feet and surveyed his fellow Teks.

"If you've got some beef with our mutie, drop it or get out." His peace spoken Radkov sat back down as if he'd only commented on the weather rather than simultaneously pledging loyalty and threatening any of Anderson's opposition. Rosenberg was failing to conceal his smile as most of the others stared at Radkov slack jawed.

"Well spoken," Ecks finally said into the silence. Anderson noted Slocum and Radkov had locked gazes and were presently engaged in a mental duel. "Judge Anderson, anything you want to add?"

Anderson got to her feet as her fellows had previously and looked around at her comrades. She put her hands on her hips and studied the floor for a second as she hunted for words, lost somewhere in her own surprise at Radkov's announcement.

"This team is an experiment," she said at last, looking up. "Which means that none of us have answers, me least of all. In one month I learned more about what I am than I have in the rest of my twenty one years. I'm depending on all of you to have my back and help me problem solve as much as you're depending on me to tackle some real monsters and not go spelunking in your psyches." Her mouth twitched in a smile. "Question, challenge, innovate. We will all of us be developing the methods and procedures for combating psychics and strange phenomena."

Ecks nodded when she sat back down. "Has anyone else got something to say?"

"Enough hugging," Olvrisson replied, his index finger tracing one of the acne scars in his cheek. "We have work."

"See to your assignments then. Anderson, you'll come with Judge Slocum and I," Ecks replied. Radkov remained sitting, watching Ecks and Slocum begin discussing things, the words swallowed by the general hubbub of the other Teks moving.

"I don't like him," Radkov said finally, turning to look directly at Anderson. "You don't like him either." She raised a finger and pressed it against her lips with a significant look. Radkov leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, looking up at her with his blue eyes through his sooty lashes. "If you have to..." he tapped the side of his head, shifting so it seemed he was just resting his chin on one hand.

"Have you seen Frtiz Radkov? He's about your size, blue eyed,"

"Flabby?" he prompted and she grinned. He got to his feet. "Call if you need something blown up."

"Will you call if you see Radkov?"

"Witch," Radkov sneered with a comedic amount of venom. Chuckling, Anderson got up too and made for Ecks and Slocum, moving towards an office Ecks had claimed as his. He shut the door behind her when she entered while she marveled at the blank room's transformation. Ecks, it would seem, was a fan of botany, a few potted plants basking under lamps specifically designed to mime sunlight. Two pressed flowers were framed on the walls, a brilliant purple Iris bloom and another speckled orange tiger lily. She'd seen real ones in Amanerinas' gardens but never anywhere else. There were also books on law, and hiding amid them were small knickknacks in the shapes of birds, most of them made from dark metal casts or dark stained wood.

"Have a seat," Ecks gestured at the chairs drawn up for them across his desk. Anderson and Slocum both did so.

"Troubles on the way over?" Slocum indicated her bruise.

"Should have been wearing my helmet," she repeated her earlier excuse, opting to leave Colt's name out of it. The less Slocum knew about her immediate associations the better. She didn't want Colt anywhere near SJS for fear her friend would do something endearingly protective and massively stupid.

"I'm sending you undercover to investigate a particular psychic," Ecks cut to the chase. "You're going to have to be extremely cautious. That means you'll have a different address, a new name, and you will _not_ be reporting back here until your cover work is completed."

"What about the riots?" Anderson cocked her head.

"Manpower is spread thin right now but this is something only you can effectively do," Ecks shook his head. "Aside from that this man may have some connection to the leadership in the Neon Knights."

"What sort of psychic is he?" Anderson asked.

"We suspect he's capable of remote viewing," Slocum replied. "That means he can project his consciousness somewhere else. That's why its imperative you have no interactions with any Judges outside very specifically outlined parameters."

"We're not sending you in alone," Ecks said. His tone was made strange by what Anderson gathered was disapproval. "Your alias will have a partner, which will be particularly important considering Al-Sayid has developed something to nullify your abilities. It will at the same time keep you safe from another telepath without alerting them to your abilities."

"How so?" Anderson's eyebrows came together.

"Al-Sayid will have to explain it," Ecks shook his head with a wry smile. She went to touch the Tek's mind but stopped as Slocum cleared his throat.

"The man you'll be investigating is named Grampus Klegg," he said, fixing her in his impossibly green eyes. Rather than reach out Anderson buffered her walls until she couldn't even feel Slocum's general signature a foot away. It made things sound stuffy and her mind felt cloistered, but at least she ran no risk of reading him at all. "He owns an assortment of fortune 500 companies and is a major contributor to a number of political campaigns and lobbies. This means he must be handled with extreme care."

"What exactly am I looking for? Proof of his abilities or something else?"

"There is reason to believe he has a number of illegal operations as well. There is evidence to indicate he has fingers in pies throughout the northern _half_ of the city," Slocum answered. "We need undeniable proof of both his psychic abilities and of his connections in order to bring him to justice. There would be _extreme_ opposition to his removal. As such there can be no doubt. He must be so exposed his political allies would recoil from him, but his powers make him difficult to catch."

Anderson swallowed the queasy feeling in her stomach at the prospect of doing this with her abilities practically nullified. She laced her fingers together and leaned back in her chair.

"Then I'll find you the proof you need," she answered with more confidence than she felt. "I do have some instructions for Juliet November's time, however."

"You can't be too careful with her confinement," Slocum hazarded.

"Certainly, but she needs some help," Anderson replied. "While I'm gone I need her put into a physical regimen that will build her strength and endurance. She's going to need both in order to give her the energy to control her considerable power."

"What do you suggest?" Ecks inquired.

"Go to Principal Griffin and tell him to design a regimen to get her into peak physical condition. Give him the specifications of the room, whatever restrictions you feel comfortable with. There has to be a testing ground the Teks use on their equipment where she can stretch her legs and not concern herself over much with control – she will lose it to some extent while she's learning. And I need the rest of today to develop some basic psychic control exercises for her."

"We'll see it done," Ecks nodded as Slocum opened his mouth object. He refrained from making a remark then and Anderson settled back a little more comfortably. Her heart was throbbing fast after dictating to her superiors how Juliet would be handled. "We'll have you start with Juliet and then move on to the particulars of your assignment. I trust you to keep your secrets but I want as little potential for others to know anything about this as possible."

"Very well. And can you have something sent to Juliet to eat?"

"Suggestions?" Ecks asked with a crooked smile.

"If she's going to become a Psi-Division Judge, she'll have an Academy-styled meal while she's training," Anderson replied with an answering grin.


	7. Informant

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the Dredd characters, places, etc.

**A/N:** This is a bit of a shorter chapter but the next one will make up for it, I promise. :)

Chapter 7: Informant

Jack had offered to come as back up but there were more protests and a couple of riots to handle so Dredd sent him off to answer calls for back up and assistance. At the moment Dredd was idling outside the Sun Dial building, one of the most recognizable buildings in all of Mega City One. It was a beacon of finance and power, taller than the Hall of Justice by a dizzying fifty stories that rose above some of the low lying clouds on rainy days. The top fifty stories were dedicated to conventions, fundraisers, and accommodations for foreign dignitaries and top businessmen. And on the top floor was the Blue Swallow, the most famous restaurant in the city.

Before this Dredd had never had cause to enter this place. He'd barely even ridden past it, located as it was in one of the nicest parts of the city. It was almost eight o'clock. As evening set in it began to cool, not to the bitter, frigid chill of the Cursed Earth of his so recent experience but the cool of a pleasant evening. Within the city there were so many bodies and so many buildings that warmth lingered.

"Judge Dredd?" came a voice through his helmet.

"Roger Ognibene," he answered to the specialized Tek Rosenberg had introduced into his recent search.

"I've narrowed your search down quite a bit into Sector eighteen. Its slow going right now. After that building blew it flagged the system and I've had to rework the algorithms and...let me just say its become more difficult. I'm still working to isolate the feed through assorted dummies but I wanted to update you."

"Keep at it. I'm working the pavement end," Dredd replied.

"Sir. I'll keep you updated."

The comm link went down and Dredd dismounted form his Lawmaster. He'd parked a few blocks away from the Sun Dial itself so he might not tip off Stanley Fergus' informant, Mr. Normal. Lawmasters weren't an uncommon sight but there was no sense in any extra tip off. As he started slowly for the building he thought about Miss Del Monte inviting him to tea at three tomorrow. Whatever happened he intended fully to go in ready for a fight. She had seemed to know something was up and he doubted the man watching her would let their meeting go without incident.

The lobby of the Sun Dial was arranged with all sorts of plants and running water features. The floor was polished to a high gloss, a pinkish sort of stone that threw back the light so it was warm and inviting without losing the edge of posh. Dredd's steps made a crisp sound as he walked through the businessmen lounging on ornate couches, tumblers of dark liquid sweating in their grip. The dark wood bar at one end displayed its license prominently and he'd no need to check. There were routine inspections. The Sun Dial was notorious for its adherence to regulation. After all, Goodman herself visited this establishment for many of her political dealings. Cal, Slocum, Ecks, and the rest of the council and even Hunt and the division chiefs were not unusual guests. Business happened here.

"Welcome Judge," smiled a pristine young woman at the front desk. Her skin was so perfect she could have been a statue, a creamy shade of peach without so much as a blemish, her features arranged in a way that would have made the Greek Gods themselves weep for their classical beauty and symmetry. Buffed, waxed, polished, she was everything a man could want. The counterpart to her left was of the same cut with darker coloring, and a woman several more stations down was the absolute depiction of an African Queen.

Ah the wonders of surgery.

"I'm looking for a reservation under 'Normal' or 'Fergus' for the Blue Swallow," Dredd informed her. She tapped little mother of pearl nails on her computer and gave him a dazzling smile edged in regret.

"I don't have either of those names sir," she replied.

"Pull up a list of all the reservations at 8 pm," he changed course. She obliged and turned the screen towards him. He skimmed the list and almost smirked. Of the eighty seven reservations one was 'Colligere'. It was Latin for "collect".

"Has Mr. Colligere arrived?" Dredd asked. She turned the screen around and gave him a nod. He nodded to her in turn as she passed him a key card allowing access to that floor.

"Judge Dredd," she called his attention back as he turned to go. "Eight years ago you were working a case on trafficking." He waited for her to elaborate. "Thank you, sir. More than just finding us, you made certain we didn't get lost in the system." She lowered her head in almost a bow.

"Its the duty of a Judge."

"No sir, you did more than the law entailed. You made sure we had some way back out of the dark."

"What's your name?" he asked.

"I'm Camellia now, but you took my statement as Morgan Carillo."

"Still sing?" he asked as his memory widened out her cheek bones and jaw line, made her silky blond hair frizzy and put a little crick in her nose. Camellia's face shot through with a rosy blush and smiled so wide it crinkled the skin on her nose and around her eyes girlishly.

"Sometimes, later in the evening with the pianist," she nodded towards the bar and the grand piano on its raised platform.

"Good."

"Tuesday nights," she looked down bashfully. "Every Tuesday night from ten to eleven." He gave her a decisive nod and turned towards the elevator.

He would never have admitted it aloud, but he felt an unusual flash of pride. There were days when he felt nothing but evil occurred in this city, that he was fighting to even keep the city barely functional. Terrified little Morgan Carillo singing to soothe her shell shocked fellow victims was something that would live in his memory forever, huddled as they were in a corner of an interrogation room at his Sector Thirteen station as child services made their way there in the middle of the night. Her smokey fifteen year old voice came straight out of a nineteen twenties night club, shading and coloring lullabies and children's songs into soothing, poignant recollections of innocence lost. He remembered standing outside the door with a bag of rations and a case of water just listening, wishing his perps had opened fire on him so he could have splattered them across the pavement for their crimes. Lives were lost, just not the sort that satisfied the requirements of a death sentence.

And now Morgan Carillo stood with her fantastically sculpted features and treated skin and hair as Camellia, successful and working someplace respectable. She was smiling and there was yet sweetness left in her, warmth in her eyes. Her life was not forever broken. Different, no doubt a struggle, but she was alive and thriving. Still singing.

Good could be done. It was done every day, every shift, with every perp he captured.

With that lifting his spirits he got into the elevator and passed the card over the sensor pad. The doors closed without a sound and began pulling him towards the top floor with the soft sound of machinery in the background.

Weariness was lurking just below his thoughts. Rather than nap he'd tried to catch up on a few reports and get a start on the pieces Anderson couldn't write about the Cursed Earth. When he could get some rest would depend on what Max Normal had to say. He would have to get at least a few hours of sleep before seeing Del Monte tomorrow, particularly if he was expecting trouble. Or he could take an adrenalin shot if he had to. Sleep could be worked around, at least a while longer.

The doors opened into a vast room of windows and soft light. The orange gold light of the city at night was thrown out across the horizon like a spilled treasure trove. Vastly outgunned the distant stars, breathtaking in true darkness, were reduced to a few defiant specks of light in the purplish black above. Seated at various tables were men and women as perfectly polished as Camellia downstairs. They were clad in garments made of real fibers rather than synthetic, the women adorned in so many gems they were themselves like miniature versions of a proper starry night. Up here they drank bottles of wine from before the Atomic War, ate actual meat rather than synthetic variants, and made deals and talked business involving unimaginable sums of money.

"Judge," greeted a sculpted young man in the likeness of Adonis with his golden curls and fathomless blue eyes.

"Colligere," Dredd replied. The host glanced down at his stand.

"This way Judge," he motioned for Dredd to follow. Dredd followed, feeling people glance at him but their attention didn't linger.

The host brought him to a table by the window where a man sat with his back to them, a pinstripe jacket hung behind him with a bowler hat balanced on one corner of the chair. As the host pulled the chair back the man turned with a pleasant smile on his middle aged face, black hair smoothed back against his scalp in an old fashioned style. The lips beneath his pencil mustache quickly pressed into a line and wariness filled his dark eyes.

"Judge," he greeted. Dredd sat down across from him, lacing his fingers and placing them on the table.

"Mr. Normal," he greeted. Mr. Normal's complexion paled but he gamely took a sip of his wine and then straightened his cuff links. He cut a trim figure if not handsome in his fitted vest with its red tie to stand out from its charcoal color and the white of his shirt.

"Call me Max, Judge Dredd," he answered after glancing at Dredd's badge. "What can I do for you this evening? I was expecting another guest about now."

"Fergus has another appointment with the Cubes," Dredd answered.

"Those sorts of appointments are difficult to avoid," Max gave a rueful smile tinged in resignation.

"You should be careful or you might find yourself with one," Dredd nodded. "What can you tell me about Rourke Kenny?"

"Judge Dredd," Max opened his mouth to begin with some reason why he shouldn't have any idea what he was talking about. He promptly shut it again and heaved a sigh. "May I preface this by saying I did not acquire this information in any sort of illegal fashion? My trade is banking. I just happen to be the sort of man to whom people confess or gossip." Dredd said nothing and just stared.

"Alright, with that hopefully weighing on your thoughts, I will tell you that Mr. Fergus did ask me if I might perhaps keep my ear peeled for news of a certain Rourke Kenny. It so happens that I managed to learn that Rourke Kenny is an alias for one David Brigg, former student at the Academy of Law before being thrown out for hacking." Max seemed like he was about to say something else with a wry smirk before he caught himself. "At any rate, he's taken up with a rather unsavory crowd of late. I was going to tell Mr. Fergus he would have to forget his money, and while you have quite a bit of clout yourself my good Judge, you are not the sort of man who can go toe to toe with these people and win."

"These people?"

"Moderna Robotics," Max seemed to warm to his subject. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. "Mr. Brigg has gone to work for them."

"A company's not above the law any more than a man," Dredd replied.

"I admire your dedication sir but let me assure you that _this_ one is. Do you know who owns the company?"

"That doesn't matter," Dredd replied. "What is Brigg doing there and why would he care about Eliza Del Monte's campaign for Robot Rights?"

Max sat back surprised now. He finished his glass of wine and poured himself another from the bottle chilling to one side. He stared out the window for a long moment.

"That was a piece I had not heard, but it makes absolute sense now. I have heard, my good Judge, that Moderna has been at the forefront of developing AI with such precision it could be used to possibly replace a person. And that is not why Madame Del Monte stands against them. Rather she is advocating the rights of Robots, and there are rumors of darker purposes. Games and dark fantasies," Max lowered his voice. "Blood sport, a chance to beat and brutalize living things not classified as living...such stories," the man shivered.

"Where do I find these events?" Dredd growled. Max blinked.

"Even I do not have _that_ information, Judge Dredd. That is the sort of thing that is invitation only, and one only receives an invitation if they know the right people. My circles do not even come close to those ones."

"Make them," Dredd leaned forward.

"The money, the time, the...the danger!" Max objected, his color gone.

"You either get me that info or find me someone who can or you'll find yourself with a cell right next to Fergus'."

"For what?" Max squawked.

"Collusion and conspiracy at least, as Fergus was looking to get his money back for illegal services."

Max was silent for a long several moments as he twisted the stem of his wine glass. He watched the light filter through the faintly saffron liquid. Finally he looked up.

"If I am to put myself in such danger, I will be compensated. And do not scoff at it Judge. I am not trained in martial arts, nor do I have the inclination or health to be so. These men...these are _dangerous_ men with power the likes of which the Judges can't hope to compare. You will pay me fair for my troubles as an informant. And I will not be an informant to the Hall of Justice, I am _your_ informant. The fewer Judges I have badgering me the better my credibility will remain."

"Done," Dredd nodded.

"I will call you when I have some information. Is there a number?"

Dredd slid a card to his new protege. He'd never particularly bothered with an informant before, but this might work to his advantage. Max studied it, shot Dredd with a ferocious look, and then hunched over his wine.

"As I've nothing to report may I ask for the rest of my night back? I will have to consider my options and I would like to brood some. That is something that seems more appropriate in solitude, you know. And here, before you ask. My card," he held it out with two fingers. Dredd accepted it as he stood.

"I'll be in touch," Dredd both promised and threatened.

"Not before I am or I'm not worth my salt," Max sniffed.

"One last thing. Where can I find Brigg?"

"My suggestion, and as your informant it should weigh on your decisions, is to leave him alone until I get you the information you desire. He is in Moderna Robotics' company housing and going by the name of Silas Greene. Rouse Moderna's suspicion and you will lose your chance to nail them. Leave Brigg alone." The slender informant pointed at Dredd with such a serious expression it made the Judge pause to appreciate the warning.

"Three days," Dredd nodded.

"Beginning tomorrow morning?"

"As of right now."

"Lord saddle me with a Mafia Don any day," Max sighed.


	8. Discordant

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the Dredd characters, places, etc.

**A/N: **This one is belatedly for Arienhod. :) Forgive any roughness, I shall groom it when time permits...and remove more commas.

Chapter 8: Discordant

Tired as he was, Dredd just wanted sleep. He needed some if he expected trouble with Del Monte and her bugged apartment. But he was on his way to his Sector 13 house anyway to dutifully scowl at reports and make whatever headway he could. He needed to get Max Normal on record as an informant anyway and that took paperwork. Disdainful as he was of so many forms he could recognize that it wasn't an easy task Normal had ahead. Judges worked for Justice, but most people worked for pay. Dredd could begrudgingly respect that Normal merited the protection and pay that went along with being an informant.

He had a Styrofoam cup of coffee in one hand he realized as he approached the little corner office he called his own. Most of the Judges on his floor didn't even merit a cubicle but he'd gained enough seniority in his twenty years on the force to get a corner to himself. He hadn't asked for it. Rather it had been bequeathed to him by a womanizing Judge by the name of Preecha Chaichanatham, a handsome man of Thai descent. In his time Judge Chai – as his difficult name had been shortened to – had entertained a number of guests and his office always had a lingering scent of perfume and sweet laughs could be heard. When Chai had been outcast for his lecherous ways to sector 301 he had found Dredd bent over a report at his old desk in the center of the floor.

"_You'll do," Chai announced, placing a key down on Dredd's desk. Dredd looked up uncomprehendingly. "I'm giving you my office. I cleared it with the Division Chief."_

"_Do I look like I need the privacy?" Dredd prompted. Chai smiled, his handsome face with almond eyes and dimples still somehow pleasant despite the shroud of shame that had been attached to him._

"_Fact is, Baasch thinks you're the only one he can trust with it right now. If you ask me its just a matter of time before you need it. Its a long fall from the pedestal."_

"_Give it to someone else," Dredd looked back at his report._

"_Take it. There's no shame in some privacy. You'll have a scrutinized career so some external walls will help your internal ones."_

Dredd had no idea what had happened to Judge Chai but there were times when he appreciated those walls immeasurably. This evening as he came to his space he realized the lights were on and the door was ajar. That was unheard of. People avoided this space as if entering might call down his wrath. He wasn't sure if it should but he didn't like someone inside without him there.

As he grasped the doorknob fully intending to evict the occupant he was alerted to the identity of his interloper by smell. He couldn't even place what scents were in Anderson's shampoo except that they weren't overpowering but rather subtle and distinct, something clean and simple.

"I would chastise you for not even closing your office door but I know better than to assume you might be so careless," she said without turning away from a careful study of his bookshelves. "And its probably a good thing you don't dust either."

She reached up and carefully extracted a book from the shelf upon which he kept a few volumes of history. She wasn't in her street gear, or even dressed as a Judge. Rather she was in oversized athletic gear, hair drying in a little ponytail with stray tendrils falling around her face and tickling the nape of her neck. Turning to face him she opened the book and laid it down on a corner of his desk, leafing through it.

"Did you ever keep anything in here?" she asked, looking up at him now. Dredd didn't need to inspect the page where she'd stopped. The title on the spine told him everything he needed to know. _Mega City One; from Dust to Dystopia._ He set down his Styrofoam cup of bitter, burned coffee and looked down at the pages where the spine was permanently bent just a little from wedging something else there. Anderson made a face at his coffee cup.

"A newspaper clipping," he answered. Anderson nodded as she perched her hands on her hips, seeming to skim the page about Chief Judge Fargo's efforts establishing the Hall of Justice. "How long have you been here?"

"Ten minutes," Anderson replied, one finger touching down on a line so she could look up at him. "I was just going to leave your copy of the Psi-division reports when I saw the door had been left open." Dredd moved around his desk and sank into the chair. He just wanted sleep and now there was this trouble. It was however good to see Anderson. "Any idea who would want this clipping?"

"I'm not without my own political enemies," Dredd answered, opening the manilla envelope and sliding one of Anderson's several reports free. He didn't want to give away exactly how unnerved he was to find that particular thing gone.

"You're the least political Judge I've ever met," Anderson crossed her arms with a furrow between her eyebrows. She stared at him examining her hefty reports calmly. He tried to imagine how she'd managed to write so much in so short a time. "I feel...like you should be more concerned about this. Who would want that article bad enough to break into your office? What was it?"

Dredd felt something inside him shift uncomfortably. He didn't keep that article out of pride. He kept it as an example of potential darkness in every man, and as a brutal reminder that nothing but the Law mattered. He turned a page of her report as Anderson's face seemed to say she was somewhere between impatient and worried.

"It was a case I worked on twenty years ago," Dredd answered when she licked her lips and leaned forward, knuckles bracing on his desk as she tried to figure out how to weasel the information out of him. He wrestled with saying more, with admitting what had always felt like a sin to him despite the just ruling. According to the law he had been absolutely correct.

"Twenty years ago?" Anderson's face shifted, darkness gathering in her eyes. She stood back upright unsettled. Something turned over in his middle as she stared at him like she could see through his helmet. "Did it involve...a Rico Dredd?"

Dredd's muscles went wire tight as suspicion and anger made artificially hot by...something complicated, something like shame, shot through his system. Anderson winced, perhaps feeling the blisters of it in his general signature, or was she poking around? She went to the door and closed it, adding an entirely separate layer of discomfort to their situation. Chai closed the door and more than once there had been such delighted squeals that made their way through the halls late at night, at hours about like this. Anderson sat down in a chair by a second table in one corner, as far away from him in the room as she could be, and traced her hairline as she hunted for words. Dredd noticed belatedly the angry bruise along her jaw, faded after treatment but still clearly visible.

"I went to report to SJS on our adventures after the Hostage situation," Anderson said in what seemed to him a random tangent. His attentions however shifted as he connected the bruise and Slocum, the way her posture was uneasy and the dark mood behind her eyes. Strapping down the wild flurry of emotion that had run in a torrent through him he focused now very carefully on the way she sat and looked for some sign of trouble.

"It was an unusual tactic," Anderson gave him a jaded smile. "They put me in an interrogation room with a man who was not a Judge. I had no instructions, and he was just released from prison with no idea what was happening either. So I didn't read his mind."

Was that something he should chastise? As a Judge he should approve. There was no call for her invasion of this man's privacy. The man had served his sentence and was counted a free man once more. She needn't go into every mind all the time out of idle curiosity. That restraint was all that kept her human. But the tiny sliver of him that wasn't a Judge, that nagging voice in the back of his head that sometimes questioned the law, simmered with suspicion at such an unusual move. Cal and Slocum combined did not make mistakes. What was the point?

"Turns out he was Rico Dredd," Anderson said.

"He's not due out for another six months," Dredd almost blurted. He said it quickly enough that even he could tell he was surprised. Anderson rubbed her palms meditatively as something played out in her mind. "Speak up Anderson," he instructed. She looked up at him.

"I think its too much to ask that all of these are separate happenings," she said at last. She got up again and came back to his desk, skimming the page once more. Her fingernail traced the impression of the old clipping, the way the pages recalled its presence. She was quiet long enough that Dredd took a moment consider her clothing. By the cut they belonged to a man, one considerably broader through the shoulders than she was. He noticed too that the skin on her forearm was red and irritated in a first degree burn.

Dredd grappled with his discomfort over discussing Rico and carefully folded it away. He could trust Anderson, at least with the facts. Or he did trust her at any rate, whether or not that was to his benefit.

"Rico wouldn't be so subtle," Dredd closed the book and pulled it back behind his desk. He felt vulnerable with it open, unusually exposed.

"Rico's not my concern," Anderson shook her head. "At least not directly."

Dredd tilted his head and gestured for her to sit. She dropped into the closer chair this time. Her eyes scoured his helmet and the set of his jaw. He realized she was uncomfortable, as worried about his judgment of her opinion as he was uncomfortable with her knowing anything about Rico's sordid history.

"Whatever opinion you have of him, I've heard it before," Dredd assured her neutrally. Her shoulders relaxed some.

"He's very smart, and charismatic," she said carefully. "But Titan was hard on him. When Cal told him who I was – how I was related to you – I felt the change in his general signature. He was cut from ice."

Dredd allowed the idea that Rico knew exactly who and what Anderson was to him to settle. A chill crept down his spine. He had resigned himself to trouble when Rico was free again, but to think there would be someone placed like a wrapped parcel directly in the path of Rico's fury was something that had never crossed his mind. And it wasn't chance, it was a very deliberate reason that had presented Anderson as a possible weakness. To Rico she would be a calf to the slaughter.

"What did Cal gain from that introduction?" Dredd asked.

"It was a test. He wanted me to break the rules and for it to be visible in my reaction," Anderson surmised with a shrug.

"Why tell Rico anything about you?" Dredd asked because the only thing he could think was sinister, and he wasn't ready to consider what that could mean.

"If I was charitable, I would say it was to protect you by sending him after me, like he might screw up tracking me undercover," she suggested. "Or its a warning to us all. Cal's watching. You did take my side, fool man," she gave him the first real smile all evening. Dredd raised his coffee in a concession of the point and was glad her smile morphed into a grin. "But I don't like this piece of it," she indicated his book, sobering.

"You're going undercover?" he asked because there was nothing left to say about the whole situation.

"Tomorrow," she nodded.

"How long?"

"Could be months," she shrugged, leaning back in the chair as her posture eased. She ran a hand absently along the burn on her forearm and he realized splotches on her hands were burns too.

"Trouble?" he asked. She frowned faintly in confusion before touching the bruise on her jaw.

"It was a failure to communicate," she replied as her expression told him that for whatever reason it was a fond memory. Dredd tapped his forearm to indicate hers. "Oh! A new addition to Psi-division. Pyrokinetic. I had to put together a regimen for her before my undercover work and I had to push her a little. Lost the better part of my uniform when her control gave. Radkov happened to have spare clothes although now I 'owe' him," she rolled her eyes. Dredd could somehow see all of that playing out. "I should let you get back to it. I was just going to slide the reports under your door." She got up from the chair and plucked at her too big shirt. "Your shift's almost done right? I don't think you've slept in a while," she observed.

"Complicated case," Dredd shrugged noncommittally. Anderson nodded. "Eliza Del Monte is the spokeswoman for Robot Rights," he elaborated as she turned to go. She looked back curiously. "I'm looking for David Brigg in connection to that. He's working for Moderna under the pseudonym Silas Greene. As I understand it, if I wait I will have a chance to get to the men behind some of the riots."

"Silas Greene and David Brigg," Anderson repeated. Dredd brought the mug shot up on his glove comm and extended his arm to her. She came just close enough to peer at it. "If I turn anything up I'll be sure you get it somehow."

"Don't underestimate your assignment," Dredd cautioned her. She chuckled as her hand found its way to the door knob. "Anderson," he called. She looked back. He pulled a card out of his desk and scrawled his number along the back. He didn't say anything when he handed it to her but by the way Anderson first studied, and then closed her hand around the card he gathered she understood.

"I'll check in when I'm back," she assured him. He gave her a nod and she left without further ado. Dredd listened to the door close and the way the noise of her shoes seemed to vanish almost immediately.

Dredd sat back down heavily in his chair and turned to consider the disarray of his thoughts. His first consideration was a list of possible thieves. Rico was out of the question. His twin would never have been so subtle, not to mention it wouldn't have crossed Rico's mind that Dredd would have kept any articles about either of them. At the time of Rico's fall there must have been hundreds of articles printed about the trial. Most of them were wildly speculative and crude, little more than tabloids delighting in the contrasts between the Dredd twins.

_Father and Sons_ was the title of the missing article. It was written by an older reporter, gray through the temples with large, round features and a little extra girth. But Dredd still remembered his eyes, the way they absorbed everything and gave nothing back. When the story had come out it circulated less than a day before the Hall of Justice had quashed it. Goodman herself had confiscated all the files and destroyed them. She had done damage control and forced the man, Mickey Felton, to redact his statements.

Rather than surrender his copy, Dredd had cut out the article and closed it up in his history book. Its insights about the Dredd twins had raised unnerving points about the nature of the Hall of Justice and its Judges. The detailed attention to biography, sociology, psychology, and a host of other social sciences combined with statistics were grim, even by Dredd's mark. He hadn't even opened the book to look at it in years, but its presence reminded him that it was only his choices that separated his fate from Rico's.

The thief was certainly not Rico. His twin would have no idea where to start looking and no need for subtlety. The disappearance of the article was certainly a warning, and he tended to agree it was probably in connection to SJS. It was a less than subtle warning to him, one that he wasn't infallible. Someone had come into his office and knew exactly where to find the article. He was being watched.

He got up to check the surveillance cameras on the floor. His paperwork could wait the extra few minutes. As his hand closed on the doorknob he heard a knock on the other side. He hesitated a fraction of a second, debating pulling his Lawgiver. It wasn't _that_ late but still...

Pulling the door open he wasn't entirely shocked to find Slocum on the other side. It wasn't expected, but then it seemed fitting that SJS should turn up on his and Slocum stood staring at each other a few seconds, an unusual degree of removal in Slocum's hard, green eyes. When it became apparent that Dredd was unmoved by the scrutiny, Slocum reached for a manilla envelope tucked under one arm.

"Rico Dredd was discharged from Titan early," he offered the envelope. Dredd looked down at it without accepting. "SJS is arranging his parole now. The fewer people know about him until he's proven reformed the better. I thought you should be counted amongst the few." Slocum's eyes departed from Dredd's unyielding expression to flick across the office. There was the smallest shift in the muscles around his eyes. Slowly Dredd took the hefty envelope.

"Was there something else?" Dredd asked when Slocum remained an unwelcome guest on his threshold, searching for something inside.

"No," Slocum took a step back. He gave Dredd another look, as if searching for something amiss. "I would take a moment to consider that file. Rico's current situation is delicate. I don't think he'd make it back from Titan a second time."

Slocum's boots seemed to echo as he departed, a marked contrast from Anderson's nearly silent sneakers. The SJS officer seemed so much more present, almost ominous, whereas Anderson had vanished without any lingering trace. Except for the smell...

Dredd was out the door and down the hall opposite Slocum's trajectory before he even knew he was moving. He wasn't running but there was an urgency in his strides, heading for the stairs. He was only on the 20th floor. He reasoned he could be down the stairs before the elevator even opened its doors for Slocum.

He emerged into the lobby after an almost dizzying descent at not quite a run and saw it was the admin Sokolov just starting his graveyard shift. An ex-boxer with a generally poor disposition, Dredd respected that he didn't mince words. They were on cordial terms.

"Sokolov, did a Judge Anderson check out?" he asked. Any Judge from outside a sector who wished to enter a sector house had to check in and out at the front desk, including a DNA sample. Sokolov looked up over his crooked potato nose.

"SJS just followed her out towards guest parking. Alert?" Sokolov reached for the alarm.

"No!" Dredd practically snarled and veered off sharply to give chase. Sokolov gave a low whistle of disbelief. There wasn't time to correct the admin. He shoved into guest parking and looked either way, wondering which way Anderson would have gone and whether Slocum had caught her.

At this time of night most Judges were already in the field and parking was spacious. That meant there was plenty of nearby parking. He saw nobody inside except for two other Judges bantering several aisles of florescent lit parking down, in full street gear and male. Making for the entrance of the garage to check the sidewalk in some incomprehensible need to ensure Anderson needed no help Dredd thought he could hear voices.

_Don't!_

The thought jarred him to a perfect standstill. It was not his. He knew himself well enough to know when he was bent on a task. The instincts that could stop him mid stride never came across like a command to another person. And it certainly never manifested in Anderson's voice.

"A bit far from home," Slocum's voice came from just around the corner.

"I could wish to be closer to home by now, yes," Anderson replied congenially.

"You've got quite a day tomorrow. Any reason in particular you needed to visit Sector 13?"

"Paperwork."

"The internet and e-mail revolutionized communications recently," Slocum replied.

"I've heard," Anderson almost chuckled. "Some of us are still more likely to find a report if we have to trip over it."

"Where's your uniform?"

"Casualty of war. I'll get a new one when I'm back on the streets."

"Shall I remind you the delicacy of your position?" Slocum's tone lost some of its amiability.

"Does it seem I've forgotten, sir?" Anderson's tone became a bit firmer.

"Its not unusual for junior Judges to maintain contact with their Assessment officers. But it can be a risk to have your name so closely associated with another Judge."

"You flatter me,"

"Be _careful_ with your dismissal, Anderson," there was the scrape of a boot, like someone was stepping forward. Dredd's hands flexed. "Put some distance between you."

"I don't imagine that will be difficult in the foreseeable future, sir," Anderson replied. There was a tense moment of silence before there was the scrape of boots turning away. Dredd slipped back against the wall, mostly out of a beam of garish garage lighting and pressed against a pillar. He watched Slocum come around the corner with his helmet back on and stalk down the aisles of empty parking. His shoulders seemed tight.

When it was safe Dredd slid around the corner and saw Anderson standing stiffly on the pavement, her shoulders slightly hunched forward. Lines had formed around her mouth and her eyes were wide beneath pinched eyebrows in an alien expression of something he didn't understand.

"I'm sorry sir," she said, her tone immediately reduced to subordinate. "That was entirely out of line. It will never happen again. _Never_." Dredd hunted for context before recalling the unbidden thought that had rooted him to the spot.

"Explain Slocum to me," he set aside the breach of protocol.

"What?" her expression shifted into confusion.

"You 'go back'. Explain him to me."

Anderson reached up and pushed on a spot between her eyebrows. Her eyes shut as she seemed to sort her priorities.

"Judge Slocum has been my handler for eleven years now. His career is tied to my compliance, sir," she replied when her thoughts were in order. The dismay didn't totally vanish from her face. "Whatever happens to me and my department will make or break him. He's not without his own ambitions."

"_That's_ outside the bounds of a career interest," Dredd took a step towards her and pointed back the way Slocum had gone. Anderson's expression faded into something he would call controlled. A wall fell behind her eyes and for the first time he felt she would omit details. Dredd smothered a stab of outright rage. Anderson opened her mouth to speak and he held up a hand to stop her. Her fingers curled around the hem of her oversize shirt and suddenly she was reduced to a girl to him, despite her perfectly serene expression. She was maybe twenty two by now and for all her combat was still fresh out of the Academy.

"Choose your next words with extreme caution Anderson," he growled after a moment. "What's going on?"

A crack formed in Anderson's calm. It manifested in a little furrow between her brows as she stared at him. The already white knuckles curled around the hem of her borrowed shirt managed to tighten.

"I'm not eleven anymore," Anderson said softly. "The balance of power between us is shifting. He's SJS. Control is everything. Listen," she shook her head as he made to reply. "I just need time to navigate it and I can't use my telepathy. Its a party foul for you norms," a smile jerked on one corner of her mouth, one that belonged on someone older. Useless anger throbbed behind Dredd's eyes. She was speaking politics.

"What are you not telling me?" he demanded shrewdly. Her smile got darker and her fingers relaxed from their grip.

"If you want me to say I revile that man, I'll confess to it. But my reasons are mine and they don't involve anything the Hall of Justice regulates."

Dredd found himself for the first time in opposition to Anderson. They stood staring at each other like gunslingers. He wished he was a mind reader, that he could crack her thoughts open and examine each one. There was something critical she wasn't giving him, a piece of the puzzle he needed. Something told him he needed it desperately.

"You're telling me I'm reading too much into his reaction?" he demanded.

"I'm telling you the dynamic is changing and I'll handle it."

If he thought shaking her would have helped he'd have done it. His fingers flexed in agitation. She was a street Judge and that's where she belonged, not dangled over the gnashing teeth of politics. What made it worse was the fact he had no ability to help her. Goodman may have listened to his advice on matters of the streets – occasionally – but he was firmly sidelined on political topics. Anderson's very existence was political. Give him a perp and Dredd could solve the problem. Trying to navigate a labyrinth of polite phrasing and subtle powers rendered him useless.

"Why stop me from coming around that corner?" Dredd demanded. Anderson winced as if he'd struck her. Her eyes dropped, dark with shame.

"I'm sorry for that," she looked up suddenly repentant again. "I thought the outcome would be more favorable – for everyone – if you didn't come into the middle of it. It was a snap decision, and the wrong one. I had no right to project into your mind like that."

"Sort it out, Anderson," he growled, his tone seeming to grind against her flesh like glass shards. "If you can't, _I_ will."

"There'll be no call for that," she vowed, her tone apologetic and bordering on ashamed. Dredd found it disconcerting. This situation couldn't be that complex. What wasn't she telling him about the lay of the land? They were silent and staring another minute, Anderson seeming to await further reprimand as he willed her to confess. Unaccustomed to stale mates Dredd wasn't sure how to bring a close to the discussion.

"Go home," he said finally. "Your assignment starts tomorrow."

"Sir," she nodded obediently. Without another word she turned away from him and started down the block. Dredd's temper flared again at the dissatisfying finish. He watched her sternly as she moved several yards before coming to an abrupt halt. She came just close enough so she wouldn't have to shout.

"When its settled," she said. "When I can tell you I've finished it, I'll report in full."

"I'd rather know now than find out you lost the game and the badge," he replied tersely.

"Don't coddle me," she flashed him a grin as her eyes sparked with her strange humor. Dredd almost smirked at that. Anderson really did leave this time, flagging down a taxi several yards away. For his part Dredd went back into the lobby where Sokolov was quietly reading up on the latest issue of a boxing magazine.

"Bring up the feed on..." he started to say.

"Your floor?" Sokolov prompted without looking up. "I'd love to, but they forgot to put in a disk to record. SJS just asked for the same thing." Dredd just stared at the auxiliary. When he'd had enough Sokolov put down his magazine and leaned forward, looking up over bifocals with a shock of gray hair falling into his eyes. "Fighting over a woman never ends well. Fighting over a woman with your _superior_ ends in tragedy."

"That's against regulation," Dredd replied automatically. The Cursed Earth had cured his prickles over the accusation. Sokolov snorted.

"I used to think you had sense. You're as stupid as the others here," he picked his magazine back up. "At least they know _why_ they're chasing the woman. You can't even reason that far."

"Get me the logs for the security feeds. I want to see who messed up," Dredd instructed, deciding he didn't like Sokolov. The old boxer shrugged, unconcerned, and pulled them out without looking away from his article.


End file.
